


The Single Biggest Problem With Communication

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Cap-Iron Man Big Bang, Cap-Iron Man Big Bang 2013, Communication Failure, Community: cap_ironman, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Miscommunication, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Pining, Protectiveness, Shower Sex, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 108,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together.  Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized.  Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.</p><p>Written for the Cap-Iron Man Big Bang.  The gorgeous art for this story, by <a href="http://phoenixmetaphor.tumblr.com/">phoenixmetaphor</a>, can be found <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1061034">here</a>, or <a href="http://phoenixmetaphor.tumblr.com/post/68303353173/cap-ironman-2013-big-bang-art-read">here</a> on tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from George Bernard Shaw: “The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.”

“First learn the meaning of what you say, and then speak.”

― Epictetus

Steve had been wanting a chance to talk to Tony for a while, but it had been hard to get one that wasn’t just drawing him aside from the rest of the team, and that was a little, well, public for Steve’s taste.  They were both so busy, and Tony had been hard for Steve to track down.  He wasn’t sure if Tony had actually been making himself scarce or he was just awfully busy, but when they’d talked before, Tony had seemed so convinced that Steve wouldn’t want him around, that they would only fight with each other if he was, no matter what Steve said.  Steve figured he should have realized that Tony would take measures to prevent that into his own hands instead of trusting Steve that they’d worked it out; he was stubborn like that.  Either way, though, Steve was determined to track him down long enough for a talk, a real one, and he had a bit of break from the rest of his work at the moment.

 

Well . . . he still had paperwork to do, but that could wait.  Since he’d finally managed to find Tony on his own. 

 

It was more of a lucky break than anything—it was just luck that Steve had stopped by Avengers Tower to check on the team, anyway, but this was one of the first times Steve had seen Tony lately where he hadn’t been too busy to talk, rushing off to someplace else, or they’d had to deal with some sort of massive threat.  And he was still working, of course, but at least it was in the living room of the tower, instead of sequestering himself away in his workshop or somewhere else Steve would have no idea where he was.  Steve wasn’t sure what he was working on, but he had a tablet in front of him that he was drawing on as well as a laptop on the coffee table, and he was muttering to himself.  Occasionally he ran a hand back through his hair, leaving it horribly tangled, or ran that hand over his face.  Steve couldn’t help the way he found himself smiling at that—it was just so familiar, so much so it tightened his throat more than a little, because he’d seen Tony just like this, in his rumpled shirtsleeves and missing a jacket and all, too many times to count over the years, and if he just stood here and looked at him it almost felt as if nothing had changed at all, as if they were still in the mansion, with the others, and if he waited long enough Tony would look up at him and smile with the light in his eyes that he’d always had, or Jan would come in and tease Steve for just standing here and watching Tony work.  She’d always seemed to know there was something going on with Steve when it came to Tony—it had been hard for him to really hide anything from her.

 

He missed her.  He hated knowing that she was gone, that she had died while he hadn’t been here to do anything about it.  He knew the others would have done everything they could do save her and his being there probably wouldn’t have helped at all, or changed anything, but it still . . . it hurt.

 

Steve at least knew Tony well enough by now that he needed to seize this chance, so he did—he stepped into the living room and said, “Hey there.  Working on anything I’d be able to follow?”

 

Tony looked up, and blinked a little.  His face did something strange before it smoothed out and he smiled at him, and though his eyes had a weary, unfamiliar dullness these days and his face looked tired, drawn and strained in new, deeper ways that it hadn’t been before, there was still that same old light in them when he looked up at Steve, the genuine curve of his lips, that had always been there, and Steve felt something in his chest lighten.  Maybe things hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought they had.   “Oh,” Tony said.  “Hi.  I didn’t realize you were around.”  His eyes flickered, and he looked down a little, at the tablet in his lap.

 

Steve was left uncertain how to reconcile the warmth of his smile with that more ambivalent reaction.  He hesitated, then came further into the room, sat down on the couch at Tony’s side.  “I have a little bit of a break,” he said, “and I thought I’d stop by, see how the team was doing.  How everyone was settling in.”

 

“I’m sure everyone’s glad to see you,” Tony said, giving him another smile.

 

Steve smiled a little—everyone definitely had seemed happy to see him around, but it was strange to be here and not be on the team.  He kept feeling like he was home here, like he should be one of them.  But Bucky was Captain America now, and . . . he had other things to do, himself.  And that . . . that felt strange, unsettling and bizarre, like he’d lost something he was used to bracing his feet against.  “And what about you?” he asked, trying for a slightly teasing tone of voice.

 

Tony gave him a slightly more crooked smile.  “Let’s see if we start arguing again and then we’ll see,” he said, then shook his head, looked down a little more.  “Nah,” he said, as if shrugging away his initial reaction.  “It’s always good to see you, especially, uh, especially these days.”

 

Steve smiled at him a little more widely, even more pleased by that answer than he’d expected, the emotion in Tony's voice, feeling something warm settle into his chest.  When Tony looked up at him, his eyes widened—he smiled a little back, then looked back down again.  “So,” Steve said.  “You didn’t tell me what you were working on.  Anything I’d be able to make head or tails of?”

 

Tony smiled a little, at that.  “Actually, yes,” he said.  “I’m working on some updates to the Avengers databases.  Making sure everything’s current and erecting some new safeguards and firewalls.  I have some time, and it’s something that needs to be done sooner or later, so why not now, right?”

 

It was work that needed to be done, and Steve supposed he had to admit that Tony was one of the few who could do it, especially since he’d set up most of that network in the first place, but it struck him as something Tony had chosen to do rather than to spend even a moment not busying himself with something, almost make-work.  But he was glad of Tony’s commitment to the team, that was for sure—with everything Tony had been doing on top of everything else, like Avengers missions, his new company, and endless press appearances, it was clear that he was as devoted as ever to the Avengers to be making so much time for them, and Steve couldn’t have been more happy with that.

 

But now he could hardly find Tony to talk to him.  Even after the meetings of the Illuminati he disappeared before Steve could do more than exchange a few words with him most times, it felt like, and to be honest, Steve felt awkward using a meeting like . . . _that_ to try to corner Tony to talk about something personal.  It felt wrong.  Underhanded.

 

“Do you ever take a break?” Steve said with a slight smile, intending it to sound teasing, a reminder of an old and affectionate argument about how hard Tony worked, how he never seemed to take the time to rest.  Steve knew that him getting on Tony’s case about it was a bit of a case of pot meeting kettle, but Tony didn’t even seem to take enough time to let himself sleep sometimes.

 

Tony tensed up, though, and looked away.  “It’ll be done soon,” he said, tapping at his tablet.  “Or, well, maybe not soon, but I’ll get it finished today.  I know I still have those Quinjet repairs to do, though that might take a little longer, sorry, I have some stuff I absolutely have to get checked over for Resilient in the next couple of days.”

 

Steve blinked, a little surprised by that response.  “No rush,” he said, then remembered, again, that he wasn’t on the team, so it wasn’t exactly his call.  “I’m sure the others won’t mind, no matter how long it takes,” he said.  “I sure hope you’re planning to take a break after that, though—working yourself into the ground isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

 

Tony gave a wry, almost harsh little laugh.  “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said.  “I’ll need to work some on upgrades to the suit around then, anyway.  There’s some weird staticky feedback I’m getting sometimes and I think it’s interference with some of the Extremis ports, but I haven’t taken the time I need to really go over it and get it checked out.”  He raised one shoulder in an oddly apologetic half-shrug.

 

Steve stared at him, alarmed.  “Wait,” he said.  “Extremis is part of your body, isn’t it?  Shouldn’t you do that first?  What if it affects you—I mean, your health?”

 

Tony gave him a bland half-smile.  “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?” he said, then shook his head.  “It’s not going to be a problem for the team,” he said, “I promise.  It’s not that serious.  You don’t have to worry.  It won’t affect my readiness for the field.”

 

That wasn’t at all what Steve had been worried about, though he supposed Tony was right and it might be a legitimate concern.  When it came to Bleeding Edge and Extremis, though, Tony would certainly know that far better than he.  Steve had to admit that yeah, that still bothered him at times, the fact that Tony was at least part . . . computer now, but the fact that Tony had shot himself up with a retrovirus was just that—fact.  There was nothing to be gained from constantly rehashing it, or at least, that was what Steve told himself. 

 

But hadn’t Tony only recently deleted his brain, his memories, with Extremis?  Left himself permanently damaged, they’d said, and Steve had to swallow hard at the memory.  He didn’t like the thought that Tony could still be . . . hurt from that, or the things that had happened to him before that that Steve still didn’t perfectly understand.  Carol had done her best to explain when he’d asked her for a rundown, and Tony had given him a cursory explanation, but both of them had had a tendency to go off on tangents about everything else that had gone wrong around then.  A Skrull virus, of some sort, that had hurt Tony in some way, done something to Extremis, he knew that much.  He didn’t much like the idea that this new armor Tony was using might be causing him any more pain or damage, or that the injuries that had already been inflicted on him might still be a problem.

 

It was hard enough to accept everything that Tony could no longer remember.

 

“What about you?” Steve pressed, more seriously, voice low.  “Will you be all right?”

 

Tony shrugged, smiled at him, that wry crooked smile one he recognized from years and years of having it turned on him.  “Just fine,” he said, and then Steve saw him bite the inside of his cheek and turn away.  “Don’t worry about it.  Just some routine maintenance that needs to be performed on my hard drive, really.”

 

Steve scowled.  He didn’t like it when Tony talked about himself like he was a computer, and he thought he’d made that perfectly clear.  But then, he supposed, Tony didn’t remember most of those conversations.

 

He frowned down at his fists as they clenched against his knees, crossed his arms across his chest to hide that.  He hated this.  Everything Tony couldn’t remember.  And it . . . hurt, to look into Tony’s eyes and see that strange sort of innocence at times, the lack of knowledge, real knowledge, experience, of everything that Steve had been through, still remembered so vividly.  He knew the events of the conflict that had torn the superhero community apart still haunted Tony, but they did it in a different way, a way that Steve might never actually understand, that Tony found all of it hard to cope with even without remembering it, and in some ways that in and of itself was difficult for him—but he was still innocent of it in a way that Steve wasn’t, and at times, Steve hated how much he envied that innocence.  Because Tony had been a part of it too, he _had_ , and the things he’d done still had the power to make Steve angry, but he couldn’t remember them, he didn’t have to live with those memories.  Not the way Steve did.  It made him furious with Tony sometimes, still, but he knew that was unfair, _knew_ it.  Whatever he might have suspected about Tony’s ulterior motives in deleting his brain, he had done it, more than anything, to protect other superheroes from a madman at the near cost of his own life.  Steve couldn’t fault him for that.  Could never fault him for that.

 

“Sorry,” Tony said, belatedly, and Steve looked up again to see Tony giving him a rueful sort of smile.  “I am a computer, though, you know.  My uplink capacity might be shot, but that’s not going to change the fact that my biology is fundamentally different now.”

 

“I know,” Steve said, and it came out tighter than he’d meant it to.

 

“Right, yeah,” Tony said, and looked down again, quickly, back to his tablet, his mouth tightening.

 

Steve sighed, frustrated with himself.  This was nowhere near the way he’d wanted this conversation to go.  This was supposed to be . . . well, nothing like this, that was for sure.

 

“It’s fine,” he forced himself to say with an effort.  “Anyway, that’s not the point.  You’ve been . . . awful busy lately, though.”

 

Tony’s hands tightened on the tablet—or was he just imagining it?  “There’s a lot to do,” Tony said.  “Especially if I’m going to earn my keep around here.”

 

“No need for that,” Steve said, surprised.  “You’re on the team, Tony, that’s it—that’s the end of it.”

 

Tony bit his lip, Steve could see it, though he still wasn’t looking at him.  “I know you have every reason not to want me on the team,” he said after a moment, “and I get what you’re trying to do by overlooking . . . everything, putting us all back together like this, but it’s not like it’ll just go away.”

 

No, Steve admitted privately, heavily, to himself.  It wasn’t.  “Is someone giving you a hard time?” he asked instead.

 

Tony turned toward him, stared at him, eyes narrowed as if in confusion.  “What?” he said.  “What?  No . . . .”  His voice trailed off, and then he shook himself, returned to his computer, all brisk business again.  “No,” he said, “not at all.  Kind of a surprise, to be honest.  I expected a lot more pushback than there actually has been, but, then, I guess the word of Steve Rogers counts for a lot.”  He gave Steve another smile, from underneath his eyelashes, and Steve got distracted by it, for a second, the crooked curve of Tony’s mouth, the blue of his eyes from under the dark sweep of his lashes, the hair falling forward over his forehead.  “I guess I have that going for me,” he said, still with that wry, crooked little smile, and then turned back to his work.

 

“C’mon, Tony,” Steve said.  “You have a lot more than that going for you.  You’re an important part of the team.  You always have been.  We need you with us.” 

 

Tony shrugged a little.  “I’m doing my best,” he said, turning back to his computer.  “But I’m guessing that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about,” he added, tapping at one of the keys.

 

“Hey, did I say I wanted to talk to you about something?” Steve asked.  It was true, of course, but how had Tony known that without his saying anything about it?

 

“I figure you had to have something in mind,” Tony said, “why else come all the way over here to talk to me instead of hanging out with one of the others?  Anyway, I know I look busy here, but really, it’s not urgent.  Lay it on me.”

 

Steve frowned.  “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you,” he said.  “We haven’t a lot of time to catch up.”

 

Tony frowned at him, blinked a little.  “What?” he said.

 

“You heard what I said,” Steve said, making a split decision to focus on this instead of leading into the question that had been burning away in the back of his mind, however he tried to ignore it, ever since that time they’d spent in Asgard.  “You know, Shellhead,” he said, using the old nickname on purpose.  “Catch up.  Talk.  We haven’t had much chance since right after that adventure with Thor.  We’ve both been busy.  I . . . haven’t seen you that much.”

 

Tony blinked again, looked down.  “I wasn’t under the impression that was something you were particularly excited about doing,” he said in a low voice.

 

“No?” Steve said.  He frowned again.  “Really?  What about that talk we had after our little adventure on Asgard?”  That was what had gotten him thinking about all of this in the first place, to be honest—he’d realized, really realized, how little he liked fighting with Tony, how much it hurt to find himself just going after him, again and again, when all he wanted was to be his friend again.  To have things . . . maybe not be exactly how they were between them, but to have things be right between them again.  And more than that—the way Tony had looked at him, while they were there, his eyes wide and dark, the softness of his lips close up, the warmth of his smile—seeing him naked, even just for a moment, and then the presence of him on the horse behind him, even the smooth hardness of the armor at his back, his arms tight around Steve’s waist.  Just being that close to him again.  It had gotten Steve thinking about Tony.  Not just how much he’d missed him . . . but more than that.

 

It had felt so good to hug him again.

 

At the time, he hadn’t realized how little he remembered.  Tony, that was.  How lost he must have been, struggling to catch up, and he figured it just showed how good Tony was at faking it that he hadn’t realized until afterward the extent of the gaps in Tony’s memory.  But he could still remember the way he had leaned into Steve, had closed his eyes and pressed into that hug, and . . . Steve knew exactly how Tony had felt in that moment, because he felt the same.  They were never as good apart as they were when they were working together.  It was just true.  And he felt guilty, now, for going after Tony when he wasn’t really equipped to defend himself.  Tony had never seemed to blame him for it, it was more like the opposite, but . . . that didn’t make it right.

 

“That was . . . that was nice,” Tony said, looking down at his hands, “but give it what, a week, and we were yelling at each other again?  Face it, us spending time with each other these days is like a recipe for a fight.”  He sighed after that, his voice heavy.  He didn’t sound happy about it, at least, Steve told himself, trying to keep the frustration, the hurt, that sparked in him at Tony’s comments under control.  He was surprised when Tony spoke again, half-closing the laptop and setting the tablet aside.  “Look,” he said, meeting Steve’s eyes with what looked like determination.  “I know that what happened with the Infinity Gauntlet, it was a . . . lot to take in.  If you really do want me off the team for it, I get it.  I do.  You don’t have to play nice.”  His lips quirked a little bit further, even more wryly.  “And I promise it won’t make things with the old boy’s club any more awkward than normal.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked.  He kept feeling like this conversation wasn’t going where he expected it to go, or that he wasn’t even sure what Tony was talking about at all. 

 

If anything, after the incident with the Infinity Gauntlet, he had more faith in Tony than he’d had before.  He thought he would have been able to resist that sort of temptation so completely himself, but he couldn’t be sure.  Especially not with everything that had happened to Tony over the past several years, all the things he must have wanted to change, to affect with that kind of power—and he hadn’t touched anything.  How could Steve not trust him after that?  If he could trust him with the fabric of the universe, was he really not going to trust him with something like being on the Avengers?

 

And he was a member of their little smart guys’ club now, the Illuminati.  He could keep an eye on them.  Make sure they didn’t convince themselves in their ego that they were doing the right thing while all the while they were just manipulating others, make certain the power didn’t go to their heads.  But it had never been about being able to trust Tony, or not—that was what Tony had never understood.

 

“I’m saying I get it,” Tony said.  He smiled at Steve a little more, and now that smile, so wry and self-deprecating and edged, made something twist up in Steve’s stomach.  Get what?  All the reasons for Steve to hate him?  For Steve to be petty and vindictive toward him?  He was just going to write him a free check for that?

 

“Last I checked,” Steve said, “you’re still on the team.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, “but that’s what I’m saying, Steve.”

 

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Steve said, firmly.  “And none of the others have come to me with a problem.  So as far as I’m concerned, there’s no problem, as long as you don’t have one with anyone else.  All right?”

 

Tony looked down, nodded.  He took a deep, shaking breath, and blew it back out.  “Yeah,” he said after a moment.  “All right.”  There was another moment of silence, and then he said, “I have a feeling that still wasn’t what you wanted to talk to me about,” giving him a little smile and sitting back, leaning his shoulders against the back of the couch.

 

“Uh, no,” Steve admitted.  “We got a little off track.”

 

“Not that I have a problem with that,” Tony said, “but why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

 

“It’s not anything I’d call urgent,” Steve said, knowing he sounded a little awkward.  Hell, he felt a little awkward.  More than a little.  God, what was he doing?  He looked down, away from Tony’s face.  “Just something I wanted to . . . um, well, to ask you about, I guess.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said, obviously prompting.  “Yeah?”

 

“I wanted to know if you remembered something,” Steve said, forcing himself to meet Tony’s eyes.

 

Tony looked pained.  “Steve,” he said softly, “you know I deleted those memories.  I don't have them anymore, and they’re not coming back.  I don’t know what else to tell you—”

 

“No, no,” Steve said quickly.  “Not . . . one of those.  Not anything that recent.”

 

Tony blinked, looked a little surprised.  “Oh?” he said.  “Okay, what is it, then?”

 

“It was years ago,” Steve said, still feeling terribly awkward.  “When you were still. When you were still, uh, drinking.”

 

“. . . Oh,” Tony said.  He looked down, his face settling into those tired lines again, grave and drawn.  “Yeah.  I see.  So there’s . . . some doubt about whether I remember it or not.  I see what you’re saying.”

 

“I was never sure,” Steve said.  “And honestly, I wasn’t going to ask.  But I . . .”  He’d always wanted to know, and after Tony had deleted his memories, had—had damaged his own brain, willingly, and Steve had realized that everything he’d wanted to ask him about why he’d supported registration, everything he’d wanted so badly to understand—that he’d lost his chance to find out any of it, at least from Tony’s own perspective.  To ever really know, to understand what Tony had been thinking.

 

He’d wanted to understand.  Before, whenever they’d fought, after they’d been able to talk, and once Tony had explained what he’d been thinking, it had always been hard to hold a grudge.  Once he’d understood it, he hardly ever agreed, but he’d be able to see where Tony was coming from, that it wasn’t the bad place he’d been thinking, but that Tony had had good intentions, he just saw things differently.  He’d wanted that, for their conflict over Registration.  So badly.  He’d wanted to hear Tony explain, not give him excuses and the party line and self-righteous claims about responsibility, but look him in the eye and say . . . something that made everything make sense.  But now he never would.  He couldn’t.

 

He didn’t want that to happen again, didn’t want to just . . . wonder for the rest of his life.  And after that time they’d spent in Asgard together, well.  He’d been thinking about it again.  For whatever reason.

 

“I guess I just wanted to know,” he finished.  There was no good way to bring this up, was there?  “You kissed me,” he said, forcing himself not to look away from Tony’s face, not to look down.  If he was going to bring this up again after all this time, he at least owed him that much.  “It was a while back.  You were drunk.  It was . . .”  It hadn’t been some kind of friendly, light kiss, either.  Tony had been absolutely falling down drunk, and affectionate when Steve had tried to help him into the mansion, up the stairs to his bed, and then he’d leaned into Steve, wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and pressed soft, sloppy, drunken kisses over his throat, his chin, and his jaw before finally getting to his lips, licking into Steve’s mouth, moaning against his lips and clinging to him, moving one hand into his hair and hanging on tight, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

Steve had kissed him back, just for a second, before he’d tasted the scotch on his breath all over again and remembered how drunk Tony was and pulled him away, helped him up to his bedroom and into his bed, pulling off his shoes, his shirt, his belt, and his tie, before he’d left.  But there’d been a moment, when he was pulling the blankets up over him, where he’d stood there and thought . . . .

 

He hadn’t wanted to let the incident affect how he treated Tony—he’d been too drunk to be held responsible for his actions—but he hadn’t been able to put it out of his mind entirely.  He’d never let himself think, really, that Tony might like a man like that before then; he’d figured he just liked dames.  But that had changed things, except that it hadn’t, really, because Steve still hadn’t known if Tony would ever have done a thing like that if he’d been sober.  Hadn’t even known if Tony realized who he was kissing.  And despite the awful taste of the alcohol on his breath, the sloppiness in the way he’d kissed that Steve doubted would have been present had he been more aware—he’d known what Tony tasted like after that, what he smelled like (expensive cologne and metal and the warm skin smell of his body), the feeling of his lips chapped under Steve’s, his tongue in Steve’s own mouth, the scratch of his facial hair, and . . . .

 

If Tony hadn’t been drunk, Steve would have kissed him back for sure.  No doubt about it.  But Tony had never said anything about it, and then Steve hadn’t known if he was embarrassed by it, if he’d be humiliated or upset or angry if Steve mentioned it, or if he even remembered at all.  He’d been so god-awful drunk.

 

“It was one night in the mansion,” he said.  “I was helping you up to your room.  After I knew you were Iron Man, but a while before you stopped drinking.”

 

 

Tony was staring at him, and he looked frozen, his eyes wide.  Steve wasn’t sure if that meant he remembered, or not, or . . . what. 

 

“Tony?” he tried, trying to somehow break that shocked silence, ease that startled, frozen deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face.

 

Tony swallowed, visibly.  “Yeah,” he said faintly.

 

“So?” Steve asked.  “Do you remember?”

 

“Um,” Tony said.  He looked down, swallowed again, and took a deep breath.  “I . . . I didn’t think . . . .”  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  “I didn’t think it had really happened,” he said.  “You never said anything, and . . . I thought . . . .  God.  Why are you asking me about this now?”

 

“I don’t know, really,” Steve admitted.  He knew it was a little unfair just to spring it on Tony like this, but he’d been thinking about the incident so much, and he hadn’t been able to catch Tony on his own for what felt like months.  He’d been thinking about everything that had happened recently, too, how he’d . . . well, he’d been dead for a while, and whether he wanted to think about that or not, it was true, everyone made that blindingly clear in their reactions to him, how people had treated him since he’d been back.  And he’d thought about his relationship with Tony, well, a lot.  Since he’d come back.  And Tony had come back, too, in a sense, really.  He’d thought everything would be all right after they’d returned from Asgard—being on good terms with Tony again had felt so good, but then things hadn’t stayed that way, and . . . Steve wanted to go back to that feeling.  He wanted to have that with Tony again, halting and a little awkward, maybe, but real and . . . there.  Present and warm.  They’d been friends for so long.  There was so much he couldn’t resolve between them now, so much they could never really address in a way that would be fair to either of them.  He wanted to resolve what they could.  “I’ve been thinking about it lately,” he said, finally, “about the old days, you know, in the mansion.  And I . . . there’s a lot I wanted to talk to you about.  I’ve . . . been thinking about a lot of things.”

 

“I . . . oh,” Tony said.  He was trembling a little, Steve realized in concern.  He took a deep, shaking breath, raised his chin, straightened his shoulders, and blew it back out.  “Right.  I mean, if you’re worried about it happening again, I’m not drinking anymore, so I’d say the risk of me drunkenly kissing you is pretty low.”  He gave Steve a wan attempt at a smile.

 

“It happening again isn’t what I’m worrying about,” Steve said.  He smiled back, in a way he hoped was reassuring.  “Not at all, actually.”

 

“Really?” Tony asked.  He blinked, looking a little confused.  “I mean, I’ve been inappropriate with you . . . before, and . . . I understand, that was a liberty I never should have taken, even drunk off my ass.”

 

Steve took a deep breath.  It seemed so difficult, now, to say what he’d intended to say.  But there was no going back.  He was in this, now, and he had to see it through to the end.  It was the only thing that was fair to Tony, for one thing.  “I was more curious about why you did it in the first place,” he finally got himself to blurt out, and tried not to swallow too hard afterwards.

 

Tony stared at him, and Steve could see his throat work as he swallowed again.  His eyes were very wide.  He blinked once, squeezed his eyes shut so that his eyelashes came down heavily against his cheeks, took another deep breath of his own, and then opened them again.  “I was drunk,” he said with a forced, brittle-looking smile.

 

“Is that the only reason?” Steve asked as steadily as he could, not looking away, despite the way his chest seized up.

 

Tony’s gaze slid away from his, though.  “I didn’t just go around kissing people indiscriminately when I was drinking, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, sounding rather bitter.  He linked his hands between his knees, gripping hard enough the knuckles started to turn white, and looked down at them.

 

“No!” Steve said hurriedly.  “No, that’s not what I meant.  I didn’t think that.  I . . .” this really wasn’t coming out right at all, he realized.  He took a deep breath.  _Just spit it out, Rogers.  You started this, brought this up, now you have to finish it_.  “If you wanted to do that again, without being drunk this time,” he said.  “Or if I did it.  With you.  I wouldn’t mind that.  That’s . . . that’s why I asked.  That’s why I wanted to know.”

 

Tony’s head jerked up again, and he stared at Steve like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “What?”  He looked absolutely flabbergasted.

 

Steve straightened his shoulders instinctively, swallowed hard.  “You heard what I said,” he told Tony.

 

“That or I’m having one hell of an unexpected and currently inexplicable hallucination,” Tony said, his forehead wrinkling.  He looked so uncertain it was almost painful.  “I . . . Steve, why?  After all this time . . .”  He shook his head, looking utterly baffled.  “After . . .” he looked down, and his voice trailed off.  “Everything,” he said, finally.

 

“There are so many things that are never going to be resolved between us,” Steve told him as evenly as he could when his hands were sweating and he had more fluttering nerves in his stomach than he’d had in years.  He pressed his hands together, took a deep breath.  “I guess I just didn’t want this to be another one.”

 

“I guess,” Tony said blankly, still staring at him.  “Steve, I—I don’t—what about Sharon?”

 

Steve swallowed, and now he did look down.  “Sharon and I aren’t together right now,” he said, and he knew it sounded a little stiff despite himself.  “She said she needed to take a break, and figure some stuff out, and we, well, I guess we haven’t been back on since.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said.  “Oh, I . . . I see.  I’m sorry.”

 

Steve shrugged, smiled at him a little.  “It’s okay,” he said.  It would be more okay, he thought, if Tony would put him out of his misery here by telling him that he’d kissed him because he wanted to, because he cared about him that way, because he wanted it, and wanted Steve like that, too—but he didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to make him feel like he had to because Steve wanted it, or was lonely, or anything like that.

 

He just wanted to know if there was any point in holding onto this.  In hoping.

 

“Um,” Tony said.  He took a deep breath.  “Wow, Steve,” he said, and ran his hands over his face, back into his hair, tugging at it a little and blowing out a shaking breath.  Steve was about to apologize for springing all this on him, ask him if he was all right, when he dropped his hands and turned to smile at Steve.  His eyes were strange, deep and unrevealing, and had that same dark look to them, wide and dark and wild.  “So,” he said slowly, “what if I said I did want to do that again?  Without being drunk this time.  If it’s not going to be a problem for you.”

 

Steve heart leapt, seized in his throat for a moment, as a spike of elation went through him.  He had to take another deep breath, just to calm himself down, remind himself to breathe.  “I’d say that wasn’t going to be a problem for me,” he said.

 

“Well,” Tony said, his eyes glinting.  “I guess that’s something then, isn’t it.”  He reached over to the table, closed his laptop entirely, and turned off the tablet, set it on top of his laptop.  “Would you like a demonstration now?” he asked, “or would you like to wait until we’ve had some more time to think it over?”

 

“I think we’ve had more than enough time,” Steve said with a little bit of a grin.  He reached out and let one hand rest on Tony’s back, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin matte fabric of his shirt, the slight dampness of sweat.  All those years—and Tony thought he wanted to wait now?  Now, when he might actually get what he wanted after all this time—something he’d never, ever thought he’d be able to have, not even after that night so many years ago, not really?

 

“I had a feeling you might say that,” Tony said in return, with a bit more of that crooked smile from before.  There was a brief moment, when Tony looked down at the table, seemingly not seeing it, and his hand curled inward, then flattened on his laptop.  He took a deep breath, then turned toward Steve and smiled a bit more widely, though it was still rather crooked, and he leaned forward, set one hand on Steve’s cheek, and looked into his eyes, seemingly searching Steve’s face.  His hand was warm, strong, hard with callus and firm on Steve’s jaw, but not demanding.  His face looked serious, even solemn, and then he wet his lower lip with his tongue, his eyelashes flicked down to shudder over his cheeks, and he leaned in.

 

Steve fought the urge to close his eyes—he wanted to see, to remember this.  And so he saw as Tony angled his face to one side and brushed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, instead of his mouth, open-mouthed, lips parted so that his damp breath kissed the skin of Steve’s cheek, too, then moved his lips up to his cheekbone, kissed a line along the arch there, then moved down, pressed his lips to the side of Steve’s nose, the corner of his mouth, his breath coming fast, a little hard, like he couldn’t quite catch it entirely, and then, finally, settled their lips together.

 

Except for the fact that he’d pressed kisses over Steve’s face and jaw both times, this kiss was almost entirely different from the last one—their first, though Steve found it hard to count it as a real kiss.  Which would make this their first real kiss, despite everything they’d been through together over the years, and he still couldn’t quite believe that; the thought almost left him dizzy, and more than a little breathless.  Tony kissed him slowly, tenderly, leaning into it and pressing up against him like he was only going to have this one chance, this one chance to slide their lips together, once, twice, then more firmly, wet flashes of heat and soft firmness as their lips met and then pulled apart, for him to suckle lightly at Steve’s bottom lip and then press slowly but warmly deeper into his mouth, the slow kiss heating up, going deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter, until Steve’s hands were pulling Tony forward into his arms despite himself, and Tony was braced on his knees over Steve’s thighs on the sofa, balanced precariously, the hand not curled against the side of his neck, fingers twining into his hair, fisted in Steve’s t-shirt, as Tony slowly, tenderly, inexorably, passionately kissed the breath right out of him.  He could feel the brush of Tony’s facial hair, the soft light scratch of his mustache and beard against his skin, and he closed his eyes and reveled in it, the feeling, so much better than the brief, startled flashes of his memories.  Steve had been right.  This kiss wasn’t sloppy at all.

 

Tony blessedly didn’t taste like alcohol this time, but something about the hot wet velvet of his mouth did taste the same way Steve remembered it all those years ago.  He smelled nearly the same, too, cologne and pomade and shaving cream and metal and ozone, like the smells had pervaded every inch of his body and he’d never shake them off, and then just a bit like warm skin and masculine heat and a scent that was somehow unique to just him.  Steve leaned into the kiss this time, pulled Tony close, slid one hand up along his back, over the dip of his spine, following Tony’s tongue eagerly with his own.  There was still a tight, trembling thrum almost through Tony’s body, but Steve could understand that—he thought he might be so wound up, so lit up from nerves and anticipation and adrenaline and amazement, that he was trembling himself.

 

He had no idea how long the kiss lasted—it could have been seconds, minutes, or it could have been hours, years—before Tony pulled away, and they stared at each other, gasping.  Steve thought, a little giddily, that he knew how Tony felt about kissing other men now for sure, even sober.

 

“Wow,” he said, and blew out his breath shakily, still amazed.  He still couldn’t quite believe that had actually happened, but there was Tony, right in front of him, his lips kiss-stung and soft-looking despite their firmness, his eyes wide and blown.

 

“Damn, I can’t believe I just kissed you in the middle of the Tower’s living room,” Tony said with a rather tight, wobbly laugh.  He ran one hand back through his hair again, glanced around them.  “Anyone could have come in.”

 

Steve shrugged.  “They’ve seen a kiss before, haven’t they?” he asked, feeling himself start to smile again even as the thought made him flush warm with embarrassment.

 

“Well,” Tony said with a little bit of a smirk, “I’d hope so, but I think the sight of the two of us making out on the sofa could still raise a few eyebrows.”

 

“Nothing wrong with a little necking,” Steve said, though he knew his cheeks were starting to flush.  “Though . . . you’re right.  We probably should have chosen a more . . . a more private spot.”

 

“Speaking of which,” Tony said slowly, “what happens now?”

 

Steve shrugged again.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I guess that’s up to you.”

 

Tony looked at him with that strange look in his eyes again, his mouth quirking a bit oddly, too.  “You sure you want this?” he said.  “Me?  A lot of people would say this wasn’t the best idea, especially not for you, and we both know you could do a lot better than this, so I . . . just want to be sure.  That you really do want this.  Or me.  Or, well, whatever.  Any of it.”

 

“Yes,” Steve said, without hesitation.  He hadn’t expect anything like this kind of response when he’d thought to bring up that long ago kiss, but he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t wanted something like this, deep down.  That much was something he’d been sure of before he’d ever even considered asking Tony about it.  He’d wanted something with Tony for a long time, and whatever had happened between them, as strained as things had been, he still wanted that, if it was even a little bit possible.

 

Tony was still staring at him, his eyes narrowed a little, and then he blinked and his face relaxed, the lines wrinkling his forehead smoothing out.  He smiled.  “Okay,” he said.  “If that’s the way you want it, who am I to refuse?”

 

Steve started to grin, started to reach for Tony, thinking he’d pull him to his feet and they could go off somewhere private and start kissing again, and then Tony jerked his head in the direction of what Steve knew was Tony’s own bedroom, and Steve stopped, looked at him in a question, a little surprised by that.  He supposed it made sense—it was private, and where else could they be alone—but it seemed so . . . .

 

“So,” Tony said.  “Do you want to get things started now, or are you a wait until after dark kind of guy?”

 

It was Steve’s turn to stare at him in surprise now.  “Wait,” he said, “you mean—”

 

“Why wait, right?” Tony asked with that same lopsided little grin.  “You want me, I want you, why put off to tomorrow what you can do today?”

 

“It’s a . . . little fast,” Steve said.  But then, maybe this was how Tony always handled his relationships.  Maybe this was just his style.  Maybe he should have expected it from the notorious Tony Stark—Steve had never been one to press for details about any of Tony’s relationships, so it wasn’t as if he’d know.

 

Tony shrugged, his eyes still dark and oddly unreadable as he got to his feet and held a hand out toward Steve.  “We can always wait,” he said.  “But from what you said I got the impression you were tired of waiting.”

 

And that much was true.  They really had wasted enough time over the years.  Steve still couldn’t believe it—could it really be this easy?  After everything?   Everything they’d been through—all those years—all that time—and asking Tony about one drunken kiss had been enough to get this with him?  All of it?  Just like that?

 

Hell, if that was true, he felt like an idiot for missing his chance all this time, for not pushing this so much earlier.  Maybe they could have worked things out then—maybe the war, all the fighting between them, would never have happened.  He swallowed.  Thinking about that . . . hurt.  He took Tony’s hand, pulled himself to his feet, then put both hands on Tony’s shoulders before he could get too far away, looking at him steadily. 

 

“Are _you_ sure about this?” he asked.  “I mean . . . we don’t have to rush into anything.  It’s all right if we take our time.  I’m not going to change my mind if we don’t do this right this second.” 

 

He wasn’t going to change his mind at all.

 

Tony was staring at him again.  His eyes were still very wide.

 

“Tony?” Steve said, prompting.

 

“Yes!” he said quickly.  “Yes, Steve, I’m sure.  I’m sure.”  He leaned into Steve, slid one hand down the front of his t-shirt, looped the other around his belt, tugging their bodies close together.  Steve was startled by how close Tony’s bright eyes were to his, almost level—he was a bit shorter, but not by much, and Steve wasn’t used to being with someone so close to his own height, not like this.  “I’m very sure,” Tony said.  “If you want this?  If this is really what you want?  Oh, yeah, I’m sure.  C’mon.  Let’s go to bed.”  He smiled at Steve a little, leaned into him a bit more, dropped his voice, his breath hot against his ear.  “That way, whatever happens, we can have some privacy.”

 

Steve had to admit that privacy sounded good right now.  Being alone with Tony, really alone . . . sounded good.  He let himself smile a little, and on a whim leaned forward and laid a light kiss against Tony’s lips, letting his hands rest against Tony’s waist, just for a bit, feeling the warmth and solidity of him under his shirt.  “Okay,” he whispered.  “Let’s go.”

 

Tony smiled at him again, dropping his eyes, and took a step back, heading toward the door to the hall, and, after a moment, Steve followed.  It still all seemed a little sudden, a little surreal, but he wasn’t about to say no to it—this was exactly what he had wanted, what he never dreamed would ever happen.  He hadn’t dared to expect it, but now he had it.  It was hard to believe, but amazing, so amazing, like everything he’d ever wanted out of this, out of holding to that one long-ago memory, hoping and hoping, all of it, everything, all at once.  There was no way he’d ever turn away now.

 

\-----

 

He knew it was all in his head, that it was literally impossible now, with the RT running his bodily functions, but Tony couldn’t shake the seizing, tight, fluttering feeling in his chest that made him feel a lot like he was about to have a heart attack.  Every time he looked back at Steve he had to swallow hard, and it got worse.  He just hoped his hands weren’t sweating too obviously, or shaking, God, that . . . wasn’t really sexy.

 

And he wanted this to be good.  He needed this to be good, needed Steve to enjoy it.  He had to make sure it was great.  Wonderful.  Unforgettable.

 

If this was the only thing Steve wanted from him, he had to make it something worth remembering.

 

His hands actually were shaking.  Shit.  He needed to pull it together.

 

It was just . . . this was the last thing he had ever expected, certainly not what he had been thinking when Steve had come in and sat down beside him.  He’d gotten himself ready for another fight, or a business-like conversation, or just the awkwardness that seemed to hang heavy between them these days, and from that point on he felt like he’d lost control of the conversation somehow, more and more with every word that came out of Steve’s mouth.  He hadn’t even expected to see Steve in the Tower, so from the very first second he’d felt like he was playing catch-up.

 

He’d been feeling guilty he’d left the updating of the Avengers servers and database so long, but he’d just been so busy lately that this was the first chance he’d had to really set time aside for it.  He didn’t want to make Steve think he couldn’t pull his weight, or even worse, didn’t want to, wasn’t committed to the team.  He had to make Steve see he’d made the right choice allowing him to be on the Avengers again.  He’d just wanted to make it clear to him that he really did take this seriously, all of it—not that he was going to feed Steve a ton of excuses, because it was his responsibility to handle this stuff, but he really was doing his best to earn his place here.

 

He didn’t want to let Steve down.

 

Things had gotten . . . weirder and weirder from there.  And this—Tony had never seen this coming, any of it.  He’d been so absolutely, completely mortified when Steve had brought up that long ago night—he really had thought he’d dreamed it, or it had been some kind of alcohol-induced wish-fulfillment fantasy.  Steve had kissed him back, after all, and then he’d never said anything, he hadn’t been angry, or uncomfortable, or treated Tony like the embarrassing drunken mess of a man he was, so Tony figured there was no way, _no_ way, it had been real, just his stupid pining heart and over-active imagination interacting with the alcohol in his system to make him feel like an idiot.  And pine even more after something that could never really happen.  Like he did.  Because he was an idiot.

 

But to find out that it had actually happened, and Steve had remembered it—he’d felt a hole opening up in his stomach, wanted to sink right through the sofa and never look at him again.  Or anyone, his stomach flip-flopping on empty and his face hot.  He was so sure Steve would have been disgusted—but . . . apparently not.

 

Apparently instead it had gotten Steve thinking about him physically.  At least, Tony figured that was what Steve had been trying to say.  He couldn’t imagine that he was actually going to say he’d fallen for him, after all, especially not because of one sloppy drunken kiss—not after, well, everything.  Surefire way to win the attention of the one you love, get him killed and try to destroy all his ideals!  Yeah, no.  And well, even if a physical relationship wasn’t exactly what Tony had been dreaming of all these years, it was better than nothing—better than he’d ever expected he’d have.  Better than Steve never wanting to look at him again, or touch him, for sure, which was what—what Tony had been expecting when he’d brought that little incident up.  Tony didn’t know what else to make of what Steve had said, anyway.  After all, they hadn’t been that close recently, and he figured Steve and Sharon would work things out eventually, and that would be that, as far as he was concerned.  But that was all right, it was amazing that Steve would think of him like this at all; it wasn’t like he’d be left out in the cold then, not when he’d never expected to have anything like this with Steve at all. 

 

And if this was all he was going to get, if this was all they were ever going to have—it still didn’t seem real.  But if this was it—he was going to make this so good for Steve.  He was.  At first he’d been so confused that he’d wondered if this was why Steve had kept him on the team, but no, of course that wasn’t it, Steve . . . wasn’t like that, not at all, and if he was on a break from Sharon, it made a certain amount of sense.  It was surprising as hell, but well.  Tony was certainly available, and willing.  And if he might have more feelings for Steve than just sexual ones, more than were called for in a roll between the sheets, well, he didn’t have to bother Steve with them.  With . . . that.  Any of that.  He could just keep all that to himself.  He was lucky Steve wanted him at all, especially after their more recent fights.  He’d give him a good time and just hope and pray that he didn’t mess everything up irretrievably somehow.  Like he seemed to be doing with everyone—everything—else at times, these days, it felt like.

 

It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted, but it was so damn close, and if he ruined everything with this, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.  But he’d cross that bridge if he needed to, he supposed.

 

He closed the door of his bedroom behind Steve, his stomach knotting up again—he’d been so afraid he would leave, that if he didn’t take this chance, nothing would ever happen, or that he’d lose his own nerve, wouldn’t be able to do this, or that Steve would abruptly come to his senses—and stepped forward and kissed him again before he had too much time to think about it and get nervous, still in awe that Steve would let him do that at all (Steve had kissed him, too, Steve had _kissed him_ ), letting one hand rest against Steve’s side and the other settle around the back of his neck.  Steve kissed him back eagerly, and wow, there was just no universe in which Tony had honestly imagined that happening.  He couldn’t help it, he closed his eyes, leaned into the kiss, soaking it up, just . . . feeling it.  The way Steve kissed was sweet and steady and determined as he put his arms around Tony’s waist, holding him close.  He pulled him in, and Tony let him, and they just stood there kissing for long moments.

 

And then Tony realized what he was doing, that they were just standing there kissing like he couldn’t figure out what else to do, and he could do so much better than this, he needed to be doing so much better than this.  He’d just gotten caught up in it, the feeling, the reality of kissing Steve, until he wasn’t thinking about anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but . . . he needed not to do that.  He’d get carried away, and that was—well, he needed to do better, not treat Steve like Tony was the love-struck twenty-something kid he still kind of was when it came to him, in some ways.  _Come on, Stark_ , he thought, _get it together, remember?_

 

He needed to do better.

 

He got both hands on Steve’s waist and nudged him over toward his bed.  Steve sat down on it, and Tony smiled at him a little, took off his own belt and watch, set them over on the end table, toed off his shoes and took off his socks, then knelt over Steve, settling his knees on either side of his hips.  Steve’s thighs were so big and muscular that it was a bit of a stretch, actually, he could feel how wide he had to spread his legs in his hips and the crotch of his slacks.  Steve was staring up at him, eyes wide and very blue, lips bitten and well-kissed, and Tony couldn’t help the feeling of tenderness that welled up in his chest, or the way he leaned forward and kissed Steve again, licking into his mouth and draping his arms around his shoulders.  Steve’s arms came around him again, dragging him close, hands pressing against his back, and Tony’s breath hitched in his chest.  He felt overwhelmed already, hot all over.  He hadn’t felt this out of control, this jittery and uncertain, in bed in a long time, his chest tight and overfull and almost fizzy with nerves.  Steve traced one hand down over his back, tracing the line of his spine, like he had before, on the couch, and Tony shivered all over, had to remember how to breathe, as his skin tingled under Steve’s touch even through the fabric of his shirt.

 

Shirt.  Right.  He figured the faster he got his shirt off, the less time he’d spend getting himself all worked up and anxious over what Steve would think of the RT, the strange new glow of it in his chest.  The less time he’d have to psych himself out about this in general.  Not moving away from the kiss, tangling his tongue with Steve’s, the feeling of that slick and hot and enough to terminally distract him if he focused on it too much, Tony brought his hands back down and started on the buttons of his own shirt, glad he’d gotten rid of his tie earlier in the day, because that would make all this easier.  He pulled it up out of his slacks and shrugged out of it, tossed it over toward the chair in his room and knew he missed, then slid his hands under Steve’s own shirt, drawing it up even as he began to press kisses along the square, clean-shaven angles of Steve’s jaw, nuzzle his lips in behind his ear.  Steve shivered, shivered even more, gasping for breath a little and his eyes wide, as Tony pulled the t-shirt up and off over his head, Steve lifting his arms willingly to help him, and followed it with his undershirt.

 

And then he was faced with Steve’s broad chest, all smooth bare skin and sculpted muscles like some kind of Greek sculptor’s wet dreams come to life.  All Tony could do was put his hands on him.  Steve felt very, very warm against his touch, flushed and velvety, and he made a tiny little noise low in the back of his throat as Tony laid his hands on his pectorals, ran his palms down over his nipples to his ribs, then down over his stomach.  Tony smiled at that and leaned down to press a kiss to the hollow of Steve’s throat, feeling his pulse fluttering and jumping under the smooth skin.  Steve groaned a little more, tilted his head back at that, and holy shit, he was so . . . Tony took a deep breath and continued pressing kisses, soft and open-mouthed, down the line of his collarbone.  He slid his hands down over Steve’s sides, and he shivered, so he did it again, pressing there, rubbing in slow massaging slides up along his ribs and down nearly to his hips.

 

“So,” he said, murmuring the words against Steve’s skin, and Steve jerked under his hands, almost jumped.  Tony glanced up at him, smiled and met his eyes.  He wanted to see his expressions for this question.  “Preferences?  Likes or dislikes?  Anything you had in mind?”

 

“I . . . um,” Steve said.  His face was flushed, and Tony had to smile at that.  “I . . . I don’t know, like . . . what do you mean?”

 

“What do you like best?” Tony asked, tracing his fingers along his sides.

 

Steve shrugged, smiling a little self-consciously.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Anything, I guess.  Anything’s fine.”

 

“Well, that’s probably not true,” Tony said with a wry grin, “but I promise not to test you on that.  But you’re saying you don’t have anything in particular you want to see.”

 

“Definitely not,” Steve said, still very pink in the face.  “Anything you want to do is fine with me.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said with a smile, moving one hand in toward the center of Steve’s stomach, up and over the gorgeous velvet smooth skin of his chest.  “Do you want me to get a condom?  I have some.”  He nodded toward the nightstand.

 

Steve flushed even redder.  “No, I . . . I can’t get anything,” he said.  “You’re safe, and I’m safe so . . .” his voice went a little lower “. . . I’d rather not, if that’s okay with you.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said, smiling.  “Perfectly okay with me.  I figured.  Not that it really makes a difference if you can’t get anything, but I’m clean, too, in case you were, ah, curious.”  He knew Steve might be in some doubt about that, so he just . . . figured he’d clear it up.  “I was just checking anyway.”  He kissed Steve’s shoulder, bringing his mouth slowly back down to his collarbone.  Licking and kissing down between Steve’s pecs, the strokes of his hands, was making Steve tremble a little and he was flushing even more, bright red and radiating heat beneath Tony’s hands, so Tony figured his chest had to be sensitive.  He didn’t want to push anything too far too fast, and who knew how he’d feel about it, but he did swipe his thumb over one sweetly perked pink nipple and watched as Steve flushed even more deeply, blew his breath out hard and arched his back a little, his eyelashes fluttering.

 

That was something he’d have to remember for later.  Assuming Steve wanted this again, that was.  Tony brought his mouth back up over Steve’s chest this time, laying soft kisses along his throat.

 

After a moment, Steve’s hands started moving on him, too, sliding up along his sides, and Tony had to fight the urge to squirm, knowing his muscle was softer than Steve’s, his chest a bit . . . especially with the RT in it, now, but Steve didn’t say anything, though he touched the edge of the RT with his thumb, traced it just slightly.  It made Tony stiffen with the pure shocked unfamiliarity of it, the jolt of adrenaline that went through him at anyone touching it at all, before Steve moved his hand outward again.  He skimmed both hands up along Tony’s back, up into his hair, stroking his thumbs at the back of his neck, and Tony couldn’t help the way he shuddered at the tenderness, the heat that crawled up his neck into his face.  He ducked his head, breathing heavily, panting for breath, and Steve cupped his face in his hands, dug his thumbs in at the base of his skull, pressed them in behind Tony’s ears, big warm steady hands supporting his head, and Tony shivered, almost groaned.

 

At least Steve didn’t seem to mind the RT.  Tony still couldn’t really believe he’d touched it so willingly.  And at least his chest wasn’t the scarred mess it used to be; he could imagine how humiliatingly sharp the contrast would have been back in those days, so close to Steve’s perfect skin and musculature.

 

He had a moment of stupid wistful frustration that he didn’t still have the unbroken skin and perfect chest Extremis had given him a second run at, if he was going to actually have a chance with Steve after all—but this was the body he had, and that was that, he guessed.  Besides, it was his own fault he’d ended up like he was now; there was no point in whining about it.

 

“What do you like?” Steve asked softly, fingers still moving gently to tangle just a little in Tony’s hair, and he sounded so—so mind-bogglingly earnest.  Tony had to swallow again, clear his throat a little.

 

“I like most things,” he said, and smiled a little at him.  “Really, I’m going to be good with pretty much anything, don’t worry about that.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, and smiled a little back.  He moved his hands back down to rest against the backs of Tony’s shoulders, drawing him close.  “You feel good,” he said.

 

“Good,” Tony said, a little surprised.  “That’s good.  I’m glad.” 

 

He let himself settle down against Steve, realized with a jolt that he could feel the heat and hardness of Steve’s erection vividly through his pants, and oh, God, he was so hard already, and that couldn’t be comfortable, could it?  He leaned in, pressed a kiss against Steve’s neck, trailing his teeth very lightly along his jaw, and got his hands down to work at the fly of Steve’s jeans, unzipping it carefully so as to be sure it didn’t catch on the hard shaft of his cock at all.  He could feel the heat of Steve’s erection vividly through his underwear against his fingers, and Steve sucked in his breath.  Another wave of warmth swept up through Tony, and he had to catch his breath, too, sticking in his throat.  His chest still felt tight, and he was dizzy, just a little, his head swimming with heat and overwhelmed sensations and . . . and feeling.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep breathing evenly through this; he felt like he was barely getting air into his lungs as it was.  Steve gave a broken little noise, almost a moan, then flushed brightly in his cheeks, as Tony’s fingers brushed his cock.

 

It was amazing how into this Steve was—it must have been a long time for him.  That made all of this, the reason Steve had wanted it from him, make a lot more sense.  He pulled Steve’s underwear carefully down over his cock, too, then hooked his fingers underneath it and slid both jeans and underwear down over those sculpted thighs, lifting himself up to get them down past his knees.  Steve kicked them off, but Tony kept moving, bracing both hands on Steve’s thighs and settling back down onto the floor, on his knees between Steve’s legs.

 

Not even a half hour ago Tony had been working on the Avengers servers, deep in programming, lines of code, and here he was, about to suck Steve Rogers’ cock.  It still didn’t seem real.  Tony took a deep breath, tried not to let think about it too much so he didn’t get overwhelmed with nerves and . . . all of it, the stupid emotion, the pressure he felt to make this good for Steve, God, he wanted to make this so, so good for Steve—and took a good look.  Steve had a big cock, bright red, standing up against his stomach proud and hard with his erection, slick with pre-come.  Really slick—when Tony reached forward and ran his hand over the head, it smeared messily under his fingers, and Tony had to swallow roughly from pure desire, because okay, wow, that was hot, just feeling the velvety soft-smooth skin over the rock-hard firmness of Steve’s heavy dick, all that evidence of Steve’s desire smearing wetly under his touch.  Steve gave a little gasp and his hips rolled just a little, pushing himself up into Tony’s hand.  Tony almost groaned to see how sensitive he was.  He wasn’t sure Steve could possibly be as on edge as Tony was just from the thought of it, but from that shuddering little noise and shivery movement, he had to be close.

 

Okay, he needed to get himself under control, or he was going to come just from sucking Steve off, way too soon, and that would be embarrassing as hell.  Tony didn’t look up at Steve’s face, didn’t quite dare to, just leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s thigh, then the inside of it, leaving kisses along the sensitive skin, unable to resist, then trailed his lips upward until he could close them over Steve’s cock.  Steve shivered a bit under the touch of Tony’s mouth, and Tony couldn’t resist the urge to rub his hands over his thighs, just a little, as he closed his mouth around him.

 

Steve felt just as big and heavy in his mouth as he had against his hand, and his cock was hot, blazingly hot against Tony’s lips and tongue.  He could feel the wrinkle of his foreskin under the head, against his tongue, and pressed his tongue closer, flat over it, exploring that a little, until Steve sucked in his breath.  Tony sucked lightly, slid his tongue up and around, over the pre-come he could feel welling up, reveling in the taste of it as his own cock jerked in the tightness of his slacks.  He curled his tongue into the slit and Steve gasped, panting, the grunt that left his lips almost a whine, his hips twitching upward slightly.  His hands came down, heavy and warm, stroked back into Tony’s hair, though they didn’t pull.  Tony made a pleased noise, to encourage him, and turned his attention toward making this the best blowjob he possibly could.

 

It was instinct to push himself, to pull out all the stops, to show off, but Tony hadn’t given a man oral sex in a while, and he knew better than to rush things.  Choking or gagging would ruin it, and it was better to take it slow, give himself time to get back into the rhythm of it (like riding a bike, he thought a little disjointedly).  He wrapped his hand around the base of Steve’s cock and bobbed his mouth over just the head, back and forth, making sure to follow the strokes of his mouth with his tongue, playing with Steve's foreskin a little more, while he was at it.  Steve made quiet little sounds, his hips rolling but not jerking forward, his thighs trembling slightly, and those sounds settled somewhere in Tony’s chest, making him feel warm, overheated, made his own hips shift helplessly with the answering hot throb of desire in his groin.

 

He kept at it what he’d thought was only a little while, was just warming up, but Steve was already gasping, moaning, even, his hips rolling helplessly and his knees widening, giving Tony more room to press himself closer between them.  Amazed, Tony tried sucking a little harder, and Steve made a hard, breathless noise like the air had been punched out of him, tightened his fingers in Tony’s hair like he was hanging on for dear life.  Tony cast his eyes up toward him and saw that he was looking down at Tony, wide-eyed, his pupils huge and his hair falling in mussed tangles over his forehead.  When their eyes met, Steve gave a strangled noise and shuddered, trembling, flushing hot and red all the way down to his hips, and his cock jerked in Tony’s mouth.

 

Wow.  Tony’s own cock gave a throb just to see Steve looking at him like that, he could feel it all through him, a wave of heat spreading down from his head to his toes.  It only made him want to be even better for Steve, give him an even more fantastic experience.  Tony sucked harder, went down as far as he felt he could on Steve’s cock, until his lips met the hand he skimmed up along the shaft, then hummed a little over Steve’s cock, and Steve made a low, edged noise, hot and hungry.  Tony pulled off, then did the same thing again, and he could feel the long slow shudder that went up Steve’s spine even where he was kneeling.

 

This was never going to last.  Which was probably a good thing, because the taste and heat and heaviness of Steve’s cock in his mouth had his own dick straining painfully against the confines of the slacks he hadn’t bothered to take off yet.  After a while longer, a few more slow, loving sucks of Steve’s cock, he did have to reach down, open the top button and tug the zipper down to give himself some relief, pushing the heel of his hand down hard against his cock, trying to push away some of that need even as his cock ached and twitched under his hand.  He panted over Steve’s dick, working his hand against himself even as he squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to push the heaviness of that need to the back of his mind but not letting himself forget about Steve.  He let himself have a few moments, squirming his hips to press himself up against his hand, before he turned his attention back to Steve’s cock, trying to will away the hot throb of desire between his own legs, the way pleasure lodged at the base of his spine and shot straight through to his groin whenever Steve gave another low, hoarse needy noise or bucked his hips up or his cock twitched against Tony’s lips and tongue.  He felt like he himself was so close, already, and he didn’t want to come yet.  Tony leaned forward, sucked a little more insistently, taking Steve a little deeper than he thought was probably a good idea—but hey, he didn’t choke, so it was all fine—hollowed his cheeks out around Steve’s cock with suction, then pulled back and sucked on the head, teasing the sensitive spots he’d already noticed from earlier with his tongue, slid his tongue up along the bottom of Steve’s cock, over and around his foreskin, just under the head.

 

Steve cried out, hoarse, and came all at once, and Tony was glad he’d had the presence of mind to pull back a bit, because there was a lot of come, thick and just a little salt-sweet, exploding over his tongue and down his throat.  He swallowed, again and again, just the motion of it making his own cock ache even more needily, until Steve’s dick was just limply twitching in his mouth, spent, then swirled his tongue around the head again, licked down the side, and let himself pull off, panting, and still holding Steve with one hand, relieved that he hadn’t come in his pants just from swallowing Steve’s come, though it had been a near thing, and his cock still ached, heavy and insistent.

 

Steve looked at him wide-eyed—he looked warm and flushed and pleasure-dazed, and Tony smiled at that, even as his knees twinged and he stumbled a little as he got back to his feet, his own painfully hard cock bobbing between his legs and his loose slacks sagging around his hips making it a trickier proposition than he’d expected.  Steve surprised him when he reached out and caught him around the waist, drawing him close, hands a bit clumsy with orgasm but still gentle all the same.  He pressed his lips against Tony’s chest and his fingers rested at Tony’s hips, brushed against the fabric of his slacks.  He tugged on the belt loops, lightly.  “Can I take these off?” he murmured.  His voice was thick with satisfaction, and Tony felt a wave of answering pleasure tremble its way through him.  At least Steve had enjoyed himself.  Had liked it.  Just the thought of it settled in his groin, made him feel closer to coming than he had been able to get on his own, lately, even after jerking off for a good ten minutes.  He felt so damn close.  He’d been starting to worry about that apparent lack of ability to come, but apparently he didn’t have to worry about that little issue anymore.  More like the opposite.

 

“Sure,” he said.  And wow, his voice was wrecked, though that wasn’t a big surprise, he thought, considering he could still barely remember how to breathe.  Steve was careful and a little tentative, his hands still slow with his orgasm as he worked Tony’s slacks and shorts down over his cock.  Every little brush of Steve’s fingers made Tony groan and tremble a little more as each one sent lightning sparks of pleasure through him.  He had to swallow hard against the pleasure, afraid just those little touches would be what pushed him over the edge, as on fire as he felt, like every fiber of him was honing in on Steve’s touch, tuned to it with intense, perfect sensitivity—that would be embarrassing as hell.  When Steve had the clothes down around his thighs, Tony pushed his hands away gently and laid his hands on Steve’s shoulders, coaxing him to lie back down against the bed.  Steve went willingly enough, though he rested his hands on Tony’s arms, slid them down toward his wrists, as he went, not really tugging, but enough that Tony got the hint.  “Give me a second,” he said, trying to catch his breath from the way Steve’s touch alone made him tremble. 

 

He gave himself a brief moment, trying to cool down, get a full breath, and God, he needed it, before he pushed his pants and underwear off the rest of the way, then knelt on the bed, moving to sit beside Steve where he was lying sprawled out in the middle.  When Steve laid a hand on his hip, his palm sliding a little against his skin with sweat, and tugged him in toward him, Tony had to remember to breathe all over again, his breath catching, stopping in his throat.  He lay down, too, rolled onto his side and reached out to curl his hand against Steve’s cheek.  He hoped it was all right to kiss him—he'd already kissed him so much, and—even as he leaned forward and pressed their lips together once more, soft and slow, tilting their mouths close together, but Steve just made a low, eager noise and leaned forward, into the kiss, returning it willingly, just as soft and slow, even tender, his hand curving around Tony’s hip and then sliding up to rest against his back.  Tony realized with relief that he must not mind the kisses, sappy as they were, even though Tony had just had his mouth on his cock, had swallowed a good amount of his semen.

 

He felt a little guilty.  God, for him it was more about kissing _Steve_ than anything, about how badly he’d wanted this, for himself.  It didn’t seem fair to Steve, when Steve presumably just wanted a good time with a friend—but if he did enjoy it, Tony supposed he wouldn’t mind Tony’s feelings getting all mixed in.  Hoped.  He guessed he was lucky Steve liked kissing.  He kissed Steve a little longer, squeezing his eyes shut, then forced himself to pull away, catch his breath, opened his eyes again.

 

“You haven’t come yet,” Steve said, smiling at him, and his eyes were so warm and fond as he stroked his hand lightly up over Tony’s side, making his skin tingle with a hot flush of warmth all over again.  Warm enough, fond enough, that Tony felt a well of relief.  Even if Steve didn’t feel the same way he did, he still liked him—that smile was enough to prove that, affectionate and caring and everything Tony hadn’t even dared to tell himself Steve still felt about him because of how much it would hurt if it wasn’t true.  And having Steve as a friend—that alone had always been more than he could ever ask for.  Just having that was . . . it was something.  It was amazing.

 

He felt himself go a little warm with embarrassment at those words all the same, though, because sure, he hadn’t come yet, but it had been one hell of a near thing, and his cock was still hard and leaking, smearing against his skin where it bobbed against his pelvis, flushed and dark.  He bit his lip.  “Yeah,” he said.  “True enough.”  He made himself grin teasingly at Steve, just a little dark and wicked.  “You planning to do anything about that?”

 

“I guess I should, shouldn’t I?” Steve asked, still smiling.  “It’s only fair, especially after you made it so good for me.”  He flushed a little more at that, but his smile looked pleased, absolutely content. 

 

Tony was glad it had been so good for him.  “It’d be nice,” he said jokingly.  He was just relieved that Steve really had enjoyed it that much.  He steeled himself when Steve smiled a little more and reached for him, biting the inside of his lip hard and digging his fingers into the palm of his hand so that he wouldn’t come immediately, humiliatingly, at the touch of Steve’s fingers to his cock.  Steve’s fingers curled around him, stroked a little, and Tony couldn’t help the choked noise he made, and it was a near thing on the whole orgasm front—Steve’s hand was so vivid and warm, his fingers big and square and strong, so big that when he wrapped his hand around Tony he felt almost completely enveloped in that amazing heat.  Steve looked up at him, his eyes wide and a little concerned, his thumb pressing gently against the head of Tony’s cock, massaging a little, and Tony made a tight sound that sounded even to him like a whimper, his fingers tightening into fists in the blanket underneath him, fighting the urge to throw his head back and shut his eyes tight because he wanted to see Steve.  If they were going to do this he wanted to see him.

 

This was too much.  How was he going to be able to handle this?  How was he going to take this?  Steve moved in a little closer, rested one hand on his shoulder, and he said, “Tony, are you all right?” and Tony panted, almost sobbed out a breath, because how was he supposed to answer that?

 

“Yeah,” he finally managed.  “Yeah, I—I’m fine.  I just . . . that feels good.”  He somehow got himself to smile.  “Really good.”  His chest was heaving, and it was hard to get in a breath.  Steve’s hand was still on his cock, warm and steady, just radiating heat and pressure against his sensitive flesh.  Tony thought if Steve just held him like that long enough, and maybe kissed him, he might come just from that.  Steve wouldn’t even have to move his hand.

 

Steve smiled back.  “All right,” he said, and leaned in, kissed the side of Tony’s mouth gently, kissed his jaw, licked carefully, gently, over his lips, then moved down to press another soft kiss against his shoulder, just above his collarbone, still working Tony’s cock in his hand.  The slow movements felt almost like a massage, squeezing and releasing, and Tony squirmed under it, almost writhing, panting at the pleasure it sent through him, even as Steve’s tenderness made his chest tighten painfully, his throat close up.  He had to shut his eyes again, to make it easier, focusing on Steve just made him dizzier and hotter, made his cock leak uncontrollably, pleasure pulling tight in his belly just at the sight of Steve’s face, his swollen lips and flushed cheeks and the blue of his eyes.  He had a feeling Steve was watching him writhe desperately under his hand, his chest heave for breath, and he wished he could hide his face somehow, felt exposed, like Steve would see, would know that he was this overcome because of how he felt, about him, his hopeless, helpless feelings for him, and feel betrayed, would pull away and take all of this with it if he saw.

 

Steve changed how he was stroking him, real strokes of his hand now, up and down, firm with pressure, and Tony wasn’t going to last, it was impossible.  He dug his hands into the bed, twisted the sheets up in his fists, grasping them tightly like it would help, gripping so tight he could feel the muscles in his arms starting to strain.  He didn’t know what to do, whether he should try to hold off longer and maybe make it impossible for him to come at all when his desperate control started getting in the way of his own climax, or just let himself go.  Thinking about the fact that it was Steve doing this for him made him feel like he was about to come already, loose and frayed and on the edge of his control.

 

He figured Steve would like it if he came, right?  Watching his partner come was always a big thrill for Tony, at least; it was the most fun part.  He twisted his head to one side, pressed his forehead down against his own shoulder, and tried to get a breath.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, and then his palm was resting on Tony’s shoulder, back to his neck, the side of his face, pulling his head up again.  Tony didn’t open his eyes, but Steve’s hand was so warm against his jaw, the side of his face, and then Steve’s thumb skimmed over his bottom lip, just a little, so lightly, and he said, “Tony,” his voice low and—and almost tender, and Tony couldn’t help it, he just couldn’t help it, he was gone.  His cock jerked in Steve’s hand and he came, the pleasure lighting him up, coursing through him, making him cry out and toss his head back despite himself, tearing him apart under Steve’s hands.

 

“Tony, God,” Steve said, his voice rough and hot and heavy, even though it seemed like it came from a long way away.  His hand stroked over Tony's cock a little more, sending more shards of pleasure slicing through him, milking the aftershocks out of his body, and all Tony could do was lie there and shake.  He didn’t even know if he was breathing.

 

Eventually Steve pulled his hand away, but Tony just lay there another moment, sinking into the bed, trying to remember how to do anything but lie there limp with pleasure and the heavy lassitude of orgasm. He felt a little . . . dizzy, fuzzy and bleary and light all over and all he could feel was pleasure, and for a second he wasn’t even sure if he was still awake.  It had been a long time, or it felt like it had, and this was Steve—and oh, God, _Steve_ , how was he ever going to be able to handle this, his every stupid private wistful dream come true, but not really.  Not quite.

 

He couldn’t keep himself from moaning a little, bit the inside of his lip to stop himself and hoped Steve would mistake it for a moan of contentment, of pleasure.  He forced his eyes open, smiled shakily up at Steve, hoping to cover that lapse if he could.  “Hey, there,” he said.

 

“How was that?” Steve asked with a smile.  His cheeks were still very flushed, his eyes hot and heavy-lidded.

 

“Great,” Tony said, shakily.  “No, amazing.  That was amazing, Steve, I—” he caught himself, cut himself off before he continued, said something reckless and way too emotional and gave himself away.

 

“Good,” Steve said, and smiled a little more.  His eyes were fixed on Tony, like he was going to devour him with them, or see right through him, or was trying to memorize him, or some other metaphor Tony was getting all mixed up, like he wanted to fix every inch of him in his mind, and Tony fought the urge to look away, hunch his shoulders up and cover himself to hide from that look.   It wasn’t any easy impulse to defeat.

 

Instead he just let himself cast his eyes down a little, and saw that Steve was hard again—no wonder he was so flushed and hot-looking, and . . . God, he could really get it up again that quick?   Holy shit.  Wow.  That was . . . wow.  That was incredible.

 

Steve saw where he was looking and looked down, blushing a little more.  “Um,” he said, “I know, it’s because of the serum, but that’s not . . . I mean, I’m fine.  We don’t need to . . . I don’t need anything else.”

 

“No way,” Tony said firmly.  He rolled over a bit, brought his knee up gently between Steve’s legs, leaning forward into him with a grin, letting both hands fall to his shoulders.  “That’s an interesting little side effect.”

 

Steve looked embarrassed.  “Really, Tony,” he said.  “It’ll wear off, I’m fine.  I’m used to it.  I don’t need to come again.  That—” he smiled a little more—“that was plenty, really.”

 

“You’re used to it,” Tony repeated, a little in awe, hung up on that.  “Wow, what’s it like to have that kind of energy?  Holy shit.  Human perfection is right, I guess.”  He shook his head.  “No, no way, that’s not what we’re going to do.  You’re not just coming once and calling it a day.”  Jesus, how often could Steve get it up?  This was like . . . this felt almost too good to be true.  It was like Christmas or something—sure, it didn’t make up for only getting sex with Steve, but it was still pretty damn amazing.  If Steve would let him, he could have fun with this, so much fun.  He left a wet kiss against Steve’s neck, traced down over the slope of his shoulder, licking and biting lightly, and Steve shuddered, his back arching, just a bit.  His cock jerked.  “You sure you don’t want to come again?” Tony whispered against Steve’s ear, the words all low heat and breath against the whorl of it, and Steve jerked in his arms, gulped.

 

“It’s just,” Steve said, but he wasn’t pulling away, “I don’t want to wear you out, or . . . .”

 

He was worried about wearing Tony out.  Tony just . . . did that happen a lot, in Steve’s experience?  “Do I look worn out to you?” he demanded.  “I don’t wear out easy, you know that.  No way I’m done with you yet.”  He made up his mind right then and there—sure, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he wasn’t going to wear out fast for Steve, he was going to make sure Steve was satisfied, every time, no matter how long it took.  If this was all Tony got, he was sure as hell going to make it count.

 

“No?” Steve asked, but he was smiling a little now, and his arms went around Tony again, hands resting lightly at his back.

 

“Absolutely not,” Tony told him.  “Come here.”  He leaned up the little bit he needed to touch their lips, opening his mouth as he brought their bodies flush together, let his hand slide down Steve’s back to grip at the firm curve of his ass—wow, that was gorgeous—and press himself up against him.  He hid a hiss against Steve’s lips at the friction against his still-sensitive skin, the sparks of over-stimulated sensation that lit up bright along his nerve endings, almost pain, but he didn’t pull back, rolling his hips into Steve and feeling Steve’s cock slide against his own, hot, still that burning, blazing heat and even hotter now, maybe, worked and flushed and sensitive from one orgasm already, the pre-come dripping down his shaft already making it an even easier slide than Tony had expected. 

 

Steve gasped, muttered, “ _Tony_ ,” against his lips, sounding shocked and wrecked, and Tony squeezed his ass one last time—he couldn’t resist—linked one leg around Steve’s, and then rolled his hips, hard, up into his, wrapping his arm tight around Steve’s neck, pressing his mouth in against his neck again, nuzzling and licking as he rubbed their bodies together, getting his other hand down to cup both of their cocks, hold them close for more friction.  The way it felt made him want to wince a little, pleasure, but sparking and raw and too much, like pins and needles through his cock.

 

“Tony,” Steve gasped, “Tony, I—” his hands clutched at Tony’s back, digging in tight, and Tony gasped a little, arched back against that tight, close, almost crushing hold, couldn’t help himself.  “Are you all right?” Steve panted.  “That has to—“ he groaned, his hips jerking forward—“does that hurt?  You just . . . you’ve got to be sensitive.”

 

Tony blinked, a little surprised at the honest note of real concern in Steve’s voice, even thick and hazed with lust as it was—though he wasn’t sure why he was surprised, this was Captain America he was with here, after all.  Selfless and protective was the name of the game, even, apparently, in bed.

 

“I’m fine,” he murmured.  “I’m just fine.  I like a little bit of burn, don’t worry about that.”  He leaned forward, let his head fit itself just under Steve’s chin, face against his throat, as he panted, pressing soft kisses over the flutter of his pulse as he worked their cocks together, figuring that would at least hide his face if he scrunched it up from effort or discomfort and keep Steve from worrying when he didn’t need to.  And it was true—he did like it, the rawness of it, the slight burn, the way Steve’s cock felt slick and hot against his, against his stomach, as he slid and ground against him, rolling and working his hips to give Steve a good ride sliding up and down against Tony’s cock and the steadying clasp of his hand, not moving it, just making sure their cocks didn’t slide around too much.  He figured there was no way he was coming again, not like this, and not this soon, but he also figured there was no way that Steve _wouldn’t_ , not the way his cock was jerking, leaking against Tony’s stomach, how hot and flushed he felt in Tony’s arms.

 

Steve’s arms tightened around him at that, and he gasped, “O-oh.”  Tony didn’t know if that was a response or just a helpless noise of pleasure, and honestly figured it was good either way.  He ground in a little bit closer, bit lightly at the base of Steve’s neck, moved his fingers back down to Steve’s ass and dug them in tight, and Steve gave another ragged noise as his cock jerked against Tony.  They settled into a rhythm, and Tony just closed his eyes tight and pressed as close as he could.  He enjoyed it, being all pressed up tight against Steve, the feeling of Steve’s hot cock wet and sliding against his own stomach and hip, the rough friction on his own.

 

It didn’t take that long, actually, and Tony had to wonder if Steve always came this fast and hard as he arched his back helplessly and came on a grunting shuddering little gasp, his cock jerking and spattering come over both their chests.  A little of it reached Tony’s chin, hot against his skin, in his beard, and Tony groaned helplessly at how fucking sexy that was, reaching up to swipe it away and lick it off his fingers.  It was salty and still hot against his tongue, and he was going to have a thing for the taste of Steve’s come, he knew it already.

 

He was going to have a thing about a lot of things about Steve.  That was pretty clear.  He needed to be careful.  Couldn’t let himself get too . . . too invested.

 

Steve groaned again, his eyes widening, fixed on Tony’s fingers, and Tony winked at him, his thumb still in his mouth, just to see him flush dark.  Steve didn’t disappoint him, either, going deep red in the face.  He did reach out a second later, though, pull Tony’s thumb out of his mouth, and press a kiss gently against the side of his finger, the slope between his finger and thumb, and then against the thumb itself, licking a tentative stripe along the skin before swirling it over the nail.

 

It was Tony’s turn to shudder helplessly and stare at him, and Steve smiled.  He got one hand around the back of Tony’s neck and brought him in to press a kiss against his lips, gentle but thorough and somehow searing, before he let him pull away and looked at him, letting go of his hand only afterward.  His eyes were all lit up, his hair tousled and his skin still bright and flushed.  He was practically glowing.  “Thank you,” Steve whispered, and smiled again.

 

Tony bit his lip.  “Sure thing,” he whispered.  “I—uh.  Any time.”

 

He sounded like an idiot.  Tony swallowed.  His face felt so hot.  His whole body felt hot.

 

But Steve just grinned some more.  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, and Tony almost felt himself slump with the relief.

 

So this wouldn’t just be a one-off.  Steve wanted more.  He was so glad.  God, he was so glad.

 

“I look forward to it,” he managed hoarsely, finding another smile somewhere.  Steve just smiled at him, squeezed him a little more around his back, and then kissed his forehead.

 

Tony couldn’t take it.  He squeezed his eyes shut, let his head drop down against Steve’s shoulder.  Steve just stroked his back, light and even, easy.  Tony tried very hard not to shake too much.  That would probably freak Steve out, and . . . and yeah.  Freaking him out would be bad.  Freaking him out might lose him this, after all.

 

He should have known Steve would be affectionate in bed.  That wasn’t a huge surprise.  He was handsy even with his friends, let alone a sexual partner—he was always free with a hand on the shoulder or even the back of Tony’s neck, always had been, had always had a . . . a warm, friendly presence once you got past the stern Cap outer shell.

 

He was lucky, he told himself ferociously, lucky that Steve wanted him at all.  He couldn’t ruin things by wanting more than he was ever going to get.  He took a ragged breath, tried to compose himself.  He needed to keep it together.  He lifted his head, kissed Steve briefly, and smiled at him as he sat up.  “Be right back,” he said.  “Going to get something to clean us both up.”

 

“Good idea,” Steve said, smiling in return, and rolled onto his back, sprawling over the bed.  And that was . . . God, he was so beautiful.  Tony smiled, gave him another smile, the best one he could manage, and got to his feet.

 

He tried not to think about whether or not Steve would be watching him on the way to the bathroom, just kept his stride steady.  He got into the bathroom and washed his hands, his face, used some mouthwash to get the taste of semen out of his mouth, and then wet a small towel and rubbed himself down before he got another one and took a deep breath while he was running it under the warm water for Steve.

 

What the fuck was he doing? he asked himself, staring at his reflection.  He’d been more than half in love with Steve Rogers quietly, in the back of his mind, for most of his adult life.  Ten years, now?  More?  More.  And now he’d just brought him to orgasm twice and he was lying in there on Tony’s bed—in Avengers Tower, no less, never let it be said Tony didn’t go big—and he wanted Tony as a, as a fuck-buddy.

 

What had he gotten himself into?  Really, what the hell did he think he was doing?

 

Tony let himself run one hand over his face, then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, squeezed the excess water out of the towel.

 

He could do this.  He’d had plenty of casual sex in his life—just ask anyone.  Everyone knew that.  What was a little more, right?

 

He gave a grim, rueful smile at his reflection— _you got me into this_ , he thought, a little bitterly—forced the smile to get bigger, more genuine, practicing on himself, and only when he could pull it off to himself turned to head back into the other room with Steve.

 

Steve was still lying on the bed, one arm propped his head, and he turned to Tony with a grin as he crawled back onto the bed.  Tony managed to return it, the smile he’d practiced, then looked down as he set about cleaning Steve up, smoothing the towel over his chest, down around his groin, down his thighs.  He really did have a gorgeous cock, he mused—soft it was more obvious he was uncut.  Tony hadn’t seen a lot of cocks that were, and it was hard to master his curiosity, but he figured he shouldn’t keep staring at Steve’s cock.  He really was beautiful, though, and then there was the honest blond of his pubic hair, which made Tony smile to himself.  When he was done, he was going to get up, put the towel back in the bathroom, but Steve got one arm around his waist and pulled him down on top of him before he could get up.  He fell with an oof of air, wriggled a little, trying to get free of Steve’s grip, but Steve controlled him easily, grinning at him with just a touch of smugness, his grip like iron across Tony’s back.

 

“Hey,” Tony said, laughing a little self-consciously.  If he couldn’t get free, he could at least play it off.

 

“Stick around,” Steve said, taking the towel out of his hand, folding it, and then tossing it over onto the floor.  He ran one hand up, over the back of Tony’s neck, up into his hair, making it fluff up against the grain before settling it just at the curve at the back of his neck.  “Won’t you?”  He smiled, up at Tony, wide and a little hesitant.

 

Tony felt something in his chest twist and seize up, a weird tight, twisting feeling.  He could already tell that he was going to have a hard time denying Steve anything if he smiled at him like that, all . . . soft and intimate.  Damn it.  He took a deep breath.  “Okay,” he said.  “If that’s what you want?”

 

“It is,” Steve said, his smile more confident now.  He relaxed his arm, ran his hands down over Tony’s sides.  “Jesus, Tony,” he said, his voice a little quiet.  “I never realized it would be like this with you.”

 

Tony didn’t know how to respond to that.  He gave Steve a smile that felt uncertain even to him.  “Is that a good thing?” he asked, trying his best to joke again.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, and his smile broadened again.  “Oh, yeah.”

 

“Good,” Tony muttered.  “That’s good.”  He made himself smile back.  “That’s very good.”

 

“Can I stay?” Steve asked, a little more bashful now, his smile taking on an awkward curve.  “For a while, I mean.  Tonight.”

 

Tony felt that same seizing feeling in his chest again.  Steve wanted to stay?  Steve wanted to—he wanted to cuddle.  Oh, God, he should have known Steve would be a cuddler, even after casual sex.  It was actually pretty sweet, to be honest.  He wanted to cuddle.  Okay.  Tony took a deep breath, then reached up, curled his arms around Steve’s neck and smiled at him.  “Sure, no problem, honey,” he said, then winced at himself.  Honey, that was—that was too much.

 

But Steve just grinned and his cheeks went all pink again as he settled back into the bed.  “Thanks,” he said, and he sounded so sincere.  How did he even do that?  Tony bent his head, kissed him again.

 

“You’re something else,” he murmured against his lips, soft and damp from all their kisses.  He couldn’t help it, and that . . . it wasn’t too sappy, was it?

 

“So are you,” Steve said, running one hand up into Tony’s hair again and smiling at him.

 

“Right,” Tony managed, a little unevenly, feeling an awkward laugh escape him.  Steve’s other arm went around his back, and God, he really was cuddly, wasn’t he?  Steve Rogers, linebacker sized teddy bear.

 

Okay, he needed to get over himself.  He was finally getting this, or at least, sex and cuddles, and that was part of it, and all he could do was mope about it?  At least Steve liked cuddling, right?  He wasn’t pushing Tony out of bed, eager to get away from him now that Tony had given him what he wanted—he was being so damn sweet.  He couldn’t help that he no doubt didn’t feel the same way about Tony that Tony did about him.  But he didn’t have to be this sweet about it, either.

 

So if Steve wanted sex and cuddles . . . he could do that.  He could definitely do that.  He leaned down, pressed his face in against Steve’s neck, kissed him lightly just under his jaw, trailing his lips down to his shoulder, then let his head rest there, propped against his shoulder.  “Good?” he asked, quietly.

 

“Mmm,” Steve said.  He ran a hand through Tony’s hair, and Tony could feel him relaxing, his body going slack against the bed.  In response Tony ran his hand back and forth over Steve’s chest, stroking lightly, and felt him relax even more.  “Yeah,” Steve said on a low exhale, “good.”  His voice sounded warm, sleepy and contented, and Tony let himself relax, because that _was_ good.

 

He sounded like he was about to fall asleep.  Tony had been wondering if maybe he should ask him about if there was anything else—Steve had said he wanted to talk to him about a few things, but if he was falling asleep, he should sleep. Right after sex wasn't the greatest time to talk about stuff, anyway.

 

And this . . . it wasn’t bad.  He was lying in Steve’s arms, pressed tight to his body, curled up in bed—God, he could barely even believe it.  Not bad didn’t even begin to cover it.  Maybe if Steve slept a bit, that would give Tony time to process everything that had just happened.  To put it together in his head somehow, though he still wasn’t even close to doing that and he had no idea how he was going to start.  Still.  But he should.  Try.  He was supposed to be a genius, after all, he could make this work.  Surely.  He’d done friends with benefits before.  It wasn’t the end of the world.  Even if it was Steve. 

 

He snuck one last kiss in against Steve’s shoulder, figuring he was sleepy, maybe he wouldn’t notice or think much of it, and settled in to watch him fall asleep in Tony’s bed.

 

He could watch over him, at least, that was something. 

 

\-----

 

Steve woke up around five a.m., the same as always, to find Tony still lying on the bed beside him, legs tangled with his, arms curled loosely around him, sound asleep and more completely relaxed than Steve thought he’d seen him in . . . in a good long time, that was for sure.  It was strange at first to see him there, and then everything that had happened the night before came back in a rush, all at once, and Steve couldn’t help smiling down at the sleeping man beside him.  His face was pillowed on Steve’s shoulder, mouth half-open and eyelashes dark against his cheeks. Asleep, the lines of strain gone from his face, he looked younger, more like the man Steve had first met, despite the addition of the goatee to his facial hair and the shorter haircut, that same short hair now spectacularly tousled against the bed and curling over his ears.  Steve kissed him, lightly and impulsively, not wanting to wake him, just unable to stop himself, kissed his tousled hair, stroking it back from his forehead, and whispered, “Good morning,” against his ear before he got up, taking care to cover him with the blankets and soothing him with one hand against his shoulder when Tony made a soft, rough, sleepy sound as Steve got up and rolled onto his back, shifting a little restlessly.  It was easy to soothe him again, though, back into quiet, relaxed, sprawling sleep, and Steve patted his shoulder a little, straightened the blankets before he left on his run.  It was nice to see him sleeping so easy.  Steve knew from sharing space with Tony over the years that he’d had nightmares on the regular for at least a decade.  Maybe he’d helped with that.  It felt a little self-congratulatory, but it was a nice thought, and Steve knew he was grinning like an idiot as he ducked out of the room.

 

Steve’s run felt the fastest and easiest it had in years that morning, his mood so euphoric and joyful people started to give him sidelong looks for his cheerfulness, but Steve didn’t care.

 

Everything had been wonderful, Tony wanted to be with him—even getting called in on an urgent mission that turned out to be not that urgent couldn’t ruin his mood.  He figured Tony would be busy in the morning anyway; he usually had been, back in the days when they had been sharing space in the mansion.

 

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d expected to happen after sleeping with Tony—it wasn’t anything he’d planned for, and so what the effects might be weren’t something he’d ever thought about.  This whole thing was a new wide-open country for him.  However wonderful the night with Tony had been, as the day went on he was a little afraid it would be too much, too fast, and that Tony would shy away, become even scarcer around him than he’d been before.  So of course, because that was how things went, Steve ended up impossibly busy the rest of the day.  After the mission with the Secret Avengers, which turned out to be nothing much, he ended up spending half of his day at SHIELD talking over security clearances for himself and the team, as well as the possibility of new teams of Avengers, before he finally made it back to the Tower, by which point, of course, Tony had gone, left on business of his own. 

 

Of course.  The others asked him what he was doing back, but he dodged the question and asked them how things were going, and before long they seemed to forget that he wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. 

 

He ended up spending most of the day with Bucky, and it was good, just to spend time with him again, when there was nothing urgent going on.  Bucky seemed to know that something was up, but didn’t give him a hard time over it, and they ended up playing catch for a while.  He ended up going on patrol with him, after Natasha excused herself, saying that if they wanted to have boy time, she could take the night off, surely, partly to take his mind off waiting for Tony, and he didn’t get back until later that night, only to find Tony asleep on the couch on the living room, the news on the TV in front of him.  Tony was alone, his face propped on his fist, oblivious to the flickering lights and sounds of the television.  Bucky looked at him, then at Steve, and raised his eyebrows at him, eloquently, but then went off to take a shower.

 

Steve wondered if Tony was sitting there because he’d been waiting for him, or if he just . . . hoped he’d have been waiting, hoped that he’d have wanted to see Steve and talk to him like Steve had wanted to see him. 

 

Well, either way, there he was.  He sat down beside him on the sofa, reclaimed the remote from Tony’s lap and turned the sound off on the TV before he reached out to sling an arm around his shoulders, shake him gently awake, saying his name at the same time.  He’d been tempted to kiss him awake, but he knew better than to startle Tony like that while he was asleep, especially these days.

 

Sure enough, Tony jolted awake with a start, jumping bolt upright and looking around dazedly for a moment before he clearly recognized Steve—his eyes widened and he sucked in his breath.  “Steve,” he said, shoulders still tense and bunching like he was ready for a fight, “what—”

 

“Shh, you fell asleep on the couch, that’s all,” Steve told him, leaving his arm around his shoulders.  “The news was that interesting, huh?”

 

“Huh?” Tony said, and his brow creased, peering at Steve like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there.

 

“You fell asleep,” Steve repeated.

 

“Oh,” Tony said, after another moment.  He blinked, looked down, off to one side.  “I guess I . . . .”  He ran one hand back through his hair.  “What are you . . . I mean.  Oh. Hi.  I guess . . .”  He looked up at Steve, smiled a little.  “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Steve said, grinning despite himself.

 

“Uh,” Tony said.  “Yeah.”  He was still staring at Steve, looking at him like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there.  Steve smiled at him.  He looked a little dazed from sleep, still.  Steve figured he must be tired—maybe he’d had a hard day, or maybe all that work was just catching up with him.

 

He’d always had a soft spot for Tony when he was tired, muddled and bleary.  He knew it was because Tony was so tough, the rest of the time, so put-together, and just that he got to see him sleepy and dazed was a privilege.  Besides, he was kinda adorable when he was half-awake.  And there was more than a little protectiveness thrown in with the fondness, Steve could admit to that.

 

“You want to sleep in a bed, Shellhead?” Steve asked.  Tony blinked at him, and Steve grinned, shook his head and got his arm more firmly under Tony’s back.  “Here, c’mon.”  He pulled Tony to his feet and got him going vaguely in the direction of his room.

 

“I had a lot to do today,” Tony said, after a few minutes, and looked at him apologetically.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed.  “So did I.  We’re both pretty busy these days, I guess.” He felt a moment of frustrated regret—they’d finally, finally managed to work something out, and yet it looked like they were going to be at the mercy of their schedules and work.  They weren’t even sharing the same living space.  For once in their lives.  It seemed like such terrible luck.

 

Though he supposed it could have been worse.  Considering what they’d been through—everything that had happened.  Yeah.  Things could definitely have been worse.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said.  “I . . . didn’t know you’d be sticking around, today.”

 

Steve grinned.  “I felt like coming back,” he said, and let his fingers rest at the small of Tony’s back, just because, well, he could.

 

Tony shivered a little, at the touch, and looked at him, his eyes wide.  “Right,” he said, a little unevenly.  And then they were there.  Steve kissed Tony then, and despite the way Tony jumped at the first brush of his lips against his, he leaned into him after just a moment, returned the kiss eagerly, wrapping one arm around Steve’s back, before Steve pulled away.  “Good night,” Steve told him, squeezed his shoulders a little, and turned to head to the room Jarvis had told him was still his, even if he wasn't really living there anymore—reluctantly, but Tony was obviously too tired to do anything but sleep, even just necking for a while, or talking.  He should let him rest.

 

Steve missed living in the mansion or the Tower already, but now he had another reason to wish he didn’t have to leave.  It wasn’t as if Tony spent all his time there, but it did seem like the most reliable way to find him, because at least he regularly returned there.  And now that they were doing this together, Steve wanted to see him more often, be able to just wrap a hand around his back or press a kiss to the side of his head when no one was looking, or just . . . anything.  Talk to him, watch movies together, spar . . . just be together.  But instead Tony was splitting his time between the Avengers and his own business, like always, and Steve had his own business to look after, too.  Well, more like the country’s business.  He had a lot of messes to clean up, still, and he couldn’t slack on that just because he had a fella he wanted to spend time with. 

 

A sweetheart, he supposed, and had to stop himself from grinning at the thought.  Still, he could find excuses to drop by the Tower and see if Tony was there, at least.  It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see the rest of the team, either.  It was actually sort of nice to have a reason to visit, even if it wasn’t one he was really ready to share around.   He still didn’t get to see Tony that much, but it was still more than he had before.  Every once in a while.  Tony was hard to read, still seemed a little hesitant, but he was warm and friendly and seemed happy to see Steve, and it was like . . . it was like they were friends again, along with the rest of it.

 

If that had been the only result of their night together, Steve would still have called it a win.  That wasn’t all he wanted, of course—not nearly—but it still would have been good enough for him.  Just seeing Tony again, regularly, like the old days, being his friend.  He spent one morning with Tony in the Avengers kitchen, Tony bleary-eyed and nursing a cup of coffee, schematics spread out in front of him, and how much it felt like the old days made Steve smile, even if he did squeeze Tony’s shoulder and kiss the back of his head, which left Tony blinking into space across the table like he was surprised.  Well, he was going to have to get used to stuff like that, if Steve had much to say about it.  Tony didn’t seem to mind, just not expect it.  But Steve liked having his shoulder under his hand, square and strong and slimmer than his own, liked the way his hair felt under his lips.

 

Steve really had too much to do to be able to be there regularly, and they hadn’t been able to do much more than that, even kiss, to Steve’s frustration, but he was still satisfied—Tony had taken him up on his invitation to spar, and it really had been mostly like old times again, though Steve kept catching himself holding back, not willing to hit at Tony through the haze of memories of beating him until he bled, beating him with the shield until the mask of the armor was crumpling under it—blood and Tony’s ravaged face telling him to finish it—

 

But he didn’t think Tony noticed his hesitation, anyway, and it was good to replace those memories with those of the mat, the banter between them, hesitant and a bit awkward at first but quickly warming, growing more natural and easy, the smell of chalk and the gym and the way Tony’s body felt tangled up with his in a very different way than it had been in bed, warm and damp with sweat against him, though he felt thinner than Steve remembered.  Too thin, if you asked him.  But they ended up panting and sweaty on the mat anyway, Tony not too badly out of condition, not so much he couldn’t meet Steve halfway, and it . . . it felt good.  Tony kept glancing at him sidelong afterwards, like he was thinking about something, but he didn’t say anything, and so Steve let it go after slapping him on the shoulder (he considered Tony’s rear end, but that was a little forward, wasn’t it?) and going to get a shower.

 

Steve had to leave after that; he was gone for a week or so, on a mission.  He came back tired, just wanting to take a shower and relax and be done with it, put the strain and the stress and the frustration behind him.  It wasn’t necessarily that it had been particularly tiring, but somehow these secret missions, the responsibility that went along with them, all of it, felt a thousand times more exhausting than being Cap had ever been.  Except on his worst days—except during the SHRA, which Steve remembered as the most absolutely horrible bone-deep tiredness he’d ever felt, sleeping had made no difference, it felt like it had settled into his body for good.  This wasn’t . . . like that.  But he still felt worn out in a way he didn’t remember from all his years as an Avenger, and whatever the reason, he was tired and worn out and just wanted to put the mission behind him. 

 

He wanted to see Tony. 

 

But Tony wasn’t in the Tower—not even in his lab, or in his room, which Steve checked, feeling faintly embarrassed and invasive while he did it.  When he asked they others, they said he’d been busy with other stuff for a while and hadn’t checked in at the Tower for days.  No one seemed that curious about what that other stuff might be, either.

 

It was a little embarrassing how disappointed that left him.  It wasn’t just that he had wanted to be with someone, it was that it was Tony—he’d wanted to spend time with Tony, almost to make sure he hadn’t imagined what they’d had recently, before he’d left.  It wasn’t just that, either, that they had something now—Tony was one of his oldest friends, and he . . . he wanted that, just to spend time with him again, despite everything that had happened.  To know that they hadn’t lost everything, just because things had gotten so bad between them.  He knew that Tony was busy, and it was completely stupid and utterly unreasonable to expect him to be able to just hang around and help Steve feel better about things, whenever he wanted it, and he didn’t want that.  He didn’t want to be too demanding on Tony, or his time, and the last thing he wanted was to seem too needy, but . . . .

 

When he asked Jarvis where Tony had gone, the butler said Tony was going to be spending some time in his place in Seattle while he worked on business.  Steve made up his mind, after that.  He was going to go see him, and if Tony didn’t like it, well, he wouldn’t do it again.  But he was going to give it a try, anyway.  He told Bucky to let the others know that he had some more stuff he had to do.  Bucky raised his eyebrows at him again, but he said he would, anyway, and didn’t pursue whatever it was making his eyebrows go up (okay, Steve knew what it was, but he knew Bucky well enough to know he’d bring it up when he felt like it and Steve would just have to deal with whatever Bucky thought then) and so Steve headed for Tony’s place.

 

He was surprised to discover that it was, well, small.  He remembered Tony’s old mansion in Seattle, but the place he found was an apartment, sure, an obviously expensive one, but not the luxury he’d learned to prepare for when he visited Tony.  He felt a moment of nervousness—maybe he should have let Tony know he was coming, especially with a place this small, his presence might be intrusive—but he figured it was too late for that now, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the door.

 

The door opened a few moments later, and he found himself looking into Tony’s shocked face and wide eyes.  “Steve?” he said, sounding surprised.  He looked rumpled and tired, in a collared shirt and slacks, and Steve noticed he had no shoes or socks on, and his sleeves were unbuttoned, shoved up around his elbows.  Along with his tousled hair, it made him look strangely vulnerable, somehow, though Steve knew perfectly well that Tony wasn’t, not really.  “What—what are you doing here?”  He sounded completely flabbergasted.

 

“Hi,” Steve said with a bit of a grin, slightly bashful now that he was saying it out loud.  “I, well, I wanted to see you.”

 

“I . . . uh, I didn’t think . . .” Tony stared at him a little more, swallowed.  “You . . . you wanted to . . . see me.  Right, okay.”  He blinked.  “Uh, right.”  He stepped back, gesturing for Steve to come in, running one hand back through his hair as he did, pushing it back, scraping it back behind his ear, and shaking his head a little.  Steve hadn’t seen Tony this lost for words that often, and he couldn’t help smiling at it a little as he stepped into the apartment.

 

“Bad?” he asked.

 

“No!” Tony said, and then followed it up with a smile at him.  “No, not bad.”  He closed the door, locked it, and straightened up, squaring his own shoulders.  “Just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.  I thought . . . wait, you had a mission, right?  Did it take you out this way?  Do you need something?”

 

“I had one, but it’s over now,” Steve said, wincing a little when he realized he probably should have let Tony know that himself—but he’d found out he had to leave so quickly, and Tony hadn’t been around; there just hadn’t been time.  “Don’t worry, there’s nothing like that.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said.  “Okay.  Well, come in, make yourself at home, and all that.  I haven’t really . . .” he shrugged, gave a charmingly wry smile.  “It’s kind of a mess.  I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

 

“I don’t mind a little bit of a mess,” Steve said, smiling back.  He gestured toward the nearby sofa.  “Can I . . .”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said.  “Can I get you something to eat, or . . .”  He still looked like he was a little bit at a loss.

 

“You could sit with me,” Steve suggested, setting down his bag and settling onto the couch.

 

“Oh,” Tony said, almost to himself; Steve more saw his mouth form the sound than heard it, but he crossed the room and did sit down next to Steve, sliding down the sofa toward him a little.  “How’d the mission go?” he asked after a moment.

 

“Fine,” Steve said, and then sighed.  He let his head fall back against the cushion of the sofa and frowned at himself.

 

“Fine?” Tony said.  One hand came up, squeezed Steve’s shoulder, then shifted under his neck to begin to rub at it, gently.  “That doesn’t sound fine.  That sounds frustrating as hell.”

 

“Everything went fine,” Steve repeated.  “I don’t know.  I’m just tired, I guess.”  Tired.  Right.  He’d been “tired” ever since he came back.  When was that going to change?  Was he really getting too old for this, this time?  Or what was it?  What was up?  He couldn’t honestly claim to be tired after a milk run like that.  He sighed again.  “That feels good,” he said instead of continuing, smiling at Tony just a little.

 

Tony smiled back and kept rubbing at Steve’s neck, fingers massaging the tense muscles there.  “Well, I guess being the new boss of everyone was bound to get a little tiring,” he said.  “Like herding cats?”

 

Steve smiled a little more.  Tony was right, and . . . hell if it wasn’t nice to have him seem to understand without Steve having to really explain.  “There’s so much paperwork,” he said, and even to himself he sounded a little bit plaintive.

 

“Man, tell me about it,” Tony said.  “I can imagine. The eternal curse.”  His fingers dug in against the back of Steve’s neck, massaging more firmly, his thumb moving firmly up along the tendons in his neck.  “There’s got to be a lot.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, tilting his head back again to get more of the gentle pressure and warmth on the back of his neck.  “It’s just . . . I’m not used to this.  Being behind the scenes . . . in charge of everything.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t mean to complain,” he said.  “There’s a lot of work to do.”  He remembered that Tony had had this job, had been Director of SHIELD for a while, and that he’d thought he was just grabbing for power at the time.  With his experience with the job, now he just sort of wanted to ask Tony how he’d handled it.  But he couldn’t, of course.  Not anymore.  He wouldn’t remember.  There was always his time as Secretary of Defense, but it wasn’t really the same thing.

 

“You’re doing a good job, from what I’ve seen,” Tony said.  “If it’s any consolation.”  He smiled at Steve.  “Not that that’s a surprise.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said.  “It’s just . . . .”

 

“Tiring?” Tony said., and nodded.  “Yeah, I bet.  Well, if there’s anything I can do to help with that, just let me know.”  He smiled a little more, still rubbing his fingers at the back of Steve’s neck.

 

“Just being here is pretty nice,” Steve admitted.  He turned his head a little, reached out, and wrapped his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony was already moving into it, moving closer, leaning in as Steve kissed him.

 

They stayed there on the couch for a bit, just kissing—Tony scooted in and tilted his head into it, laying his hand on Steve’s shoulder—until finally Tony pulled away slightly and said, his voice a little hoarse, “You want to move this into the bedroom?”

 

Steve smiled a little, rubbing his thumb a little over the back of Tony’s neck.  “I should probably take a shower first,” he said, “if that’s all right?”

 

“Oh.”  Tony blinked a little, then smiled. “Yeah, sure.  Of course.”  He kissed Steve once more, briefly, then pulled back.  “No problem.  I’ll go get it ready for you.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve said.  He watched Tony get up, and Tony made him smile by dropping a kiss on the top of his head and squeezing his shoulder—Steve reached up and gave his hand a squeeze in return—before he headed off, disappearing around a corner Steve guessed led to the bathroom.  Steve turned back, still smiling to himself a little, and waited for Tony to come back, glancing around the apartment while he did.

 

The place was smaller than he’d expected, but it had the clean, modern lines Steve had come to expect from someplace Tony was living.  Whatever Tony had said about it being a mess, there wasn’t a lot of clutter—a few pieces of what looked like a car engine on one of the tables, and some schematics rolled up and stacked on a chair, and that was about it.  It was bright, with big windows.  The kitchen was off to the side but in with the living room, with a countertop separating the two spaces, much to Steve’s surprise—he’d thought there’d be more room in one of Tony’s places.  There didn’t seem to be a lot of food on the counter, either, though there were several coffee cups still sitting out, and the coffeemaker looked well used.  The sofa was comfortable, though, across from a large flat-screen television, with a very modern-looking multileveled geometric glass coffee table.  It didn’t look very lived-in, though.  The walls were bare, and the table was covered with papers—a few looked like bank statements—and an electronic tablet, as well as a paper one, and a computer, but nothing personal.  The view out the windows was beautiful, but still.

 

Tony was back a few moments later.  “Okay,” he said, “all ready.  Turn the dial to the left if you want it hotter, and I’ll, ah, I’ll be out here.”

 

“Got it,” Steve said, getting to his feet.  “The bathroom’s over there?”

 

“Yeah, just around the corner,” Tony said, “right before the bedroom.”

 

“Okay, thanks,” Steve said, and made his way there, noticing that even before he turned the corner, Tony was sitting down on the sofa again, sticking a pen absently in his mouth as he started rifling through his papers.

 

The bathroom was more obviously expensive than the living room-kitchen had been, half natural rock, with a luxurious bath and a large shower.  Tony had laid out towels for him on a bench set into the wall, and there was soap and shampoo . . . and a lot of other stuff Steve wasn't sure of, in the shower itself, which was already running.  It felt good when he stepped into it, too, the spray of the water powerful enough to make him feel it, the water hot, enveloping him with clouds of steam.  He didn’t take too long in the shower, though—the showers in the Tower were even nicer, and Tony was a lot more interesting than his bathroom, however nice it was.  He’d mostly just wanted to lose the weariness and sweat of the trip.  Toweled off and mostly dry, he got dressed again and went back out to the living room.

 

Tony looked up as he entered the room from where he was typing with one hand and scribbling notes on a pad of paper with the other.  He smiled a little.  “Hey,” he said.  “Enjoy the shower?”

 

“Sure did,” Steve said.  “You always have all the . . .” he shrugged, “I don’t know, the new stuff they put in bathrooms.”

 

Tony grinned.  “Well, you seem to have managed the newfangled contraptions fine,” he said.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, laughing, “that’s not what I said and you know it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, but he was still grinning.  Steve hid a smile of his own before he went over to the sofa and put his hands on his shoulders.

 

“Thanks for having me,” he said into his hair, more quietly.

 

“Of course,” Tony said, sounding surprised, looking back up at Steve, with a bit of a confused expression.  “I mean.  Yeah.  Sure.”

 

“So is it all right?” Steve asked.  “If I spend the night?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Tony said.  “I’m not going to make you come all this way and then toss you out on your ass.”  He turned around on the sofa, skimmed his hands up Steve’s chest before he closed his fingers in Steve’s collar and pulled him down into a kiss.

 

It was a rather dizzying kiss, distracting, and it left Steve flushed and warm.  “I didn’t mean . . . if it’s an imposition I can always leave,” he said, a little breathless, “or spend the night on the couch; I didn’t mean to force you into anything.”

 

“Of course you’re not,” Tony said, scoffing.  “And . . . honey.  You’re not spending the night on the couch.”

 

Steve grinned in relief, feeling himself go a little warmer at the endearment, like he had the last time Tony had called him that.  He liked that, he decided.  He . . . really liked that.  “Just making sure,” he said.

 

Tony just smiled back at him and slid his hands up even further, around Steve’s neck and up into his hair, then leaned up for another kiss.

 

“If you’re busy,” Steve said, after Tony’s lips left his, still trying to catch his breath.  “I can wait.  I have some of my own work I could do.”  Tony hesitated, Steve could see it, and that was enough answer for him.  He kissed Tony again and nudged his hands away as he did it, taking them in his own and bringing them down between them.  “Finish up,” he said.  “I’ll be around.”

 

Tony stared at him.  “Are you sure?” he said.  “It’s fine, this stuff is . . . I can do it later.”

 

“I’m in no special hurry,” Steve said.  “Is it okay if I sit here with you?”

 

“I . . .” Tony looked at him a moment, then blinked and swallowed, smiling at him again.  “Sure,” he said.  “Thanks.  I’ll try to get all this done as fast as I can.”

 

Steve shook his head, putting one hand on his shoulder and squeezing again as he turned to step around the couch.  “Like I said,” he told him, “no hurry.”  He got some of his own work out of his bag, then sat down on the other end of the sofa.

 

He looked up to see Tony smiling at him fondly.  “I thought you didn’t like the paperwork,” he said.

 

Steve shrugged.  “Well . . .” he said.  “I don’t.  But it still has to get done.”

 

“True enough,” Tony said.  He smirked a little.  “We all have our burdens, I guess.”

 

Steve sighed, and Tony grinned and patted his knee.

 

They spent a companionable evening that way, though, sometimes talking, but more often just working in silence.  Somehow the paperwork seemed easier to handle with Tony around, doing his own work, and after a while, Tony asked Steve if he wanted takeout.  They ended up getting Vietnamese food, and it was a great meal, as far as Steve was concerned—Tony got talking, and it really did feel like old times again, just talking about nothing in particular, anything that came to mind, even stupid things like the recent movies.  It was several hours later, after they’d both gone back to work (though eventually Steve gave it up in favor of drawing quick sketches of Tony working), when Tony looked at his watch and then blinked at the time and swore under his breath, looking a little surprised.  “I didn’t mean to make you wait this long,” he said apologetically.  “I just . . .” he shrugged.  “Not to say that financial statements and schematics are more interesting than you are, of course . . . .”  He looked so genuinely, awkwardly apologetic that Steve had to smile.

 

“It’s just that schematics are more interesting than I am, right?” he teased.

 

Tony shook his head, his mouth going self-deprecatingly crooked.  “Only sometimes,” he said, clearly teasing back, then looked down a little.  “Seriously, I’m sorry.”

 

Steve shrugged.  “No big deal,” he said.  “I told you; I’m fine with waiting.”

 

“Well, I’m done,” Tony said, pushing his papers and tablet away with some finality.  “For now, anyway.  So . . .” he turned toward Steve, who flipped his sketchpad shut and slid it, and his stack of paperwork, back into his bag.

 

“So it’s my turn?” Steve said with a smile.  He got to his feet, and after a moment, Tony followed him.

 

“Yes,” Tony said.  “It’s absolutely your turn.”

 

“Bedroom, then?” Steve asked, glancing at the windows—it was a little open in here for him.

 

Tony smiled a little, knowingly.  “Right,” he said.  “Yeah.”  He led Steve back past the bathroom to his bedroom—which was also smaller than Steve had expected, the bed large, but not the vast size he’d grown to expect Tony’s beds to be.  This looked a lot more private than any of Tony’s bedrooms he’d seen before, more like his bedrooms in the mansion or the Tower, actually—smaller, more personal, not really intended for others to see so much as a place for Tony to sleep, basic and almost minimalist.  The windows were big in here, too, but Tony hit a button near the door and they shaded toward black. 

 

When Tony turned toward Steve after closing the door behind them, his eyes had that wide, dark look to them again that Steve kept seeing there since they’d started this, even as he smiled and stepped forward to meet Steve in the middle of the room.  Steve wondered if Tony felt a little in over his head—he sure did.  Not about the sex or the relationship itself, but the fact that it was with Tony, after all this time—it was overwhelming just to think that he could really have this, let alone to actually have it in his grasp, to be able to reach right out and touch Tony like this, and then to do it, feel the warm rasp of his skin under his fingers if he wanted, have the touch of his lips soft and damp against his own, the way his mouth felt, open against his skin.  It was more than just the sex, it was the closeness, the intimacy of it, the knowledge that this was Tony, this was Iron Man, and for years, Steve had wondered if he’d ever even know what he looked like, and now he was allowed to touch the skin that had been hidden beneath that metal suit, even the skin he hid under the other armor of his business suits, and Tony wasn’t pushing him away.

 

Steve took a deep breath and reached out, settling both hands against Tony’s waist.  He had always had a slender waist, thin hips, but he felt awfully skinny under Steve’s hands.  Too thin, Steve thought, again.  He remembered Tony with more weight on him than this, more muscle.  He made a mental note to be certain Tony was eating right and skimmed his hands gently up over his sides, leaning in to kiss him.  Tony shuddered a little, again, his sides quivering under Steve’s hands—he’d done that almost every time Steve had kissed him—but he leaned toward him, opening his mouth and kissing Steve back hot and eager, tilting his head into it and lifting his hands to rest against the backs of Steve’s shoulders.

 

Steve tugged at the back of Tony’s shirt, pulled it out of his slacks and slipped his hand under it, dipping his fingers down against the hollow of Tony’s spine to run his fingers just under the waistband of his slacks.  He could feel the softness of the skin there, the warmth, stroked his hand up along more of the bare smooth skin revealed to his fingers.  He smoothed his palm over Tony’s spine, and Tony made a soft sound in his throat that was muffled against Steve’s lips.  Steve didn’t pull away, just tugged him even closer, lifting his other hand to curl it against his jaw, holding him to kiss him even more thoroughly, soft and insistent.  Tony moaned, just a little, and his eyes fluttered shut as his mouth opened willingly for Steve; Steve could feel his muscles relaxing under his hand from the way they had been tense, rigid, before.  His hands clenched at Steve’s shirt, his arms curving around Steve’s shoulders, elbows pressing in against his back.

 

Steve took it slow, this time.  Tony was a gift, and he wanted him to feel like one, treasured and important.  They’d gone so fast last time that he wanted to be slow and careful their second time out.  He took his time even with the kiss, drawing it out, licking over Tony’s lips and sucking on the bottom one, trailing kisses down his jaw and over his neck while he rubbed his hands over his back.  Tony was panting against him, chest heaving, but Steve wasn’t holding him so tight he couldn’t have twisted away if he needed to, and when Tony looked up at him his eyes were dark and blown wide, but he was still holding Steve close.  When Steve started to unbutton Tony’s shirt, Tony jumped as if remembering where he was, or like there was a job he was forgetting to do, and brought his hands up to start on Steve’s shirt in return.  Steve let him, this time, more interested in getting Tony’s buttons undone and parting his shirt, letting him get a glimpse of Tony’s bare chest again.  He trailed his fingers around the RT like he had before, but not quite as cursorily this time, studying the white, raised scar tissue under his fingers.  Some of it was still pink and obviously healing, all of it weirdly lit in the glow from the device itself.

 

“Can you feel that?” he asked, brushing his thumb against one side, just under it, and Tony swallowed, shook his head.

 

“Not really,” he said.  His voice sounded a little hoarse.  “It’s, uh, it’s.  I don’t have a lot of sensation right beside it.”  He finished with Steve’s buttons and his hands stilled but didn’t move away from Steve’s skin.

 

“Are you okay with me touching it?” Steve asked.  The most important question.

 

Tony gave a lopsided little smile.  “I gave you the keys to it,” he said.  “You can turn it off, why would I be worried about you touching it?”

 

That sounded like a pretty good reason to be antsy about it to Steve, and he had to swallow, clear his throat.  He still didn’t quite know what to do with that.

 

He wasn’t sure he was the person to be trusted with the key to Tony’s power sources, let alone one that was inside his body, had saved his life.

 

At the same time, he was oddly glad Tony hadn’t given it to anyone else.  He could prove to Tony that he might have been willing to kill him once, but that that time was past, that he’d guard Tony’s secrets and his safety with his own life.  That he could keep Tony safe.  He would.

 

The glow of the RT changed Tony’s chest, and Steve wondered how far into his body it penetrated.  He thought it was fairly flat and not particularly deep, but he really didn’t know.  He thought about how Tony had said it ran his entire nervous system now, flippantly, almost lightly, and swallowed, letting his hand rest over it—he could feel it emitting some kind of energy, like a magnet, almost pushing against his hand, an electric, present thrum along with the glow.  He could lay his hand flat against it, but he could still feel a hum against his palm when he did.

 

Tony jiggered one shoulder uncomfortably, and both his shoulders were starting to hunch in as if in self-consciousness, so Steve moved his hands away, deliberately skimmed up Tony’s chest, over his nipples to his shoulders to push his shirt back off over them, then followed that up by removing his own, picking both of them up and tossing them over the nearby chair.

 

They returned to kissing, Steve pulling Tony back in as he traced his chest again, thumbed at the dusky circles of his nipples experimentally, ran his fingers along his collarbones, then down again, skimming his fingers around the RT this time, avoiding it.  Tony let him, then moved in himself, tilting his head to mouth at Steve’s neck, along his jaw, and settling his hands on Steve’s sides, sliding them down slowly over his ribs, his chest.  Steve gasped, shivered, felt himself flush as pleasure tingled through him from those slow touches.  Tony hooked his fingers behind his waistband and opened the button of his pants, then slid the zipper down, still mouthing wet and hot at his neck, sliding Steve’s underwear and pants down past his thighs.

 

Steve let them fall to the ground and stepped out of them, getting his breath back and letting his hands rest at Tony’s back, smooth up over the muscles of it then back down, pressing firmly into the skin just above the rise of his buttocks.  Tony shivered, and Steve tilted his head, kissed up Tony’s neck to press a kiss against his lips as he brought his hand around and got Tony’s pants unfastened, too, with one hand, then slid both hands around to slide down over his bottom, cup the curve of it, hands flat against his bare skin, using the movement to push his underwear and pants down over his thighs at the same time.  Tony gave a brief, ragged gasp against his lips, and Steve leaned in even more, sucked on his bottom lip, closing his eyes and just enjoying the warmth of their bodies together, Tony’s groin hot against his.  He really did like how they were just about the same height.

 

Tony sighed, and his mouth softened under Steve’s, even as he skimmed his fingers back up, sliding them up over Steve’s back to settle at his shoulders, move up into his hair, stepping out of his pants and underwear at the same time.  Steve sighed himself, rolled his hips forward, against Tony’s, felt him shudder and arch up slightly so his hips pressed into Steve’s, his breathing stuttering just a bit as he returned the kiss eagerly, nipping just a bit at Steve’s lips as he did, licking into his mouth.  He was so good at kissing. 

 

The heat was building between them now, pulling Steve into it and building in his belly, hot under his skin, as Tony brought his hands down again, shifted his foot around Steve’s so that their ankles curved together.  Tony pulled away from the kiss and pressed his lips to Steve’s neck, up behind his ear, his beard scratching slightly and softly against his skin.  Part of Steve just wanted to grind himself against Tony like he had the last time, just rub himself up against his warm skin, but the rest of him wanted to take things more slowly, not rush through it this time around.  He moved to push Tony back against the bed, sliding his hands up to rest against his sides and nudging him back slightly.  Tony took a step back, let Steve push him down against the bed and crawl after him, then reached for him, put one hand flat against his chest and kissed his shoulder, trailing his mouth downward.  Steve shivered pleasurably at the sensation—he couldn’t help it, it was something about the newness of the feeling of Tony’s facial hair against his skin, the contrast between that and his soft, warm lips.  He settled himself more firmly onto the bed and curled his arms around Tony’s waist, kissing the spot just behind his ear.  Tony shivered that time, and Steve could feel the heat of his erection between them, against his hip.  He didn’t reach for it, though, instead smoothing his hands down again over the curve of Tony’s rear, kept licking and nuzzling at the scratchy skin of his neck.  Tony’s lips parted, and he panted a little against Steve’s skin. Steve smiled to himself.

 

Tony had a long lean, solid, compact sort of build, pulled in tightly over his muscles and bones, the sort of body that didn’t make him look as tall as he was when he had his full weight, but right now Steve could count his ribs, and he had a drawn out, lanky look to him.  He was still heavy, though; when Steve cupped his hands at his waist and pulled him forward, he could feel that weight, just like he’d been able to when they were sparring, more than was justified by the slenderness of his body—and then he remembered that Tony was storing most of his armor inside himself and it started to make sense.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, really, so he pushed it to the back of his mind instead of worrying over it.  Tony’s kisses were getting hotter and wetter, more obviously sexual as he licked and caressed Steve’s chest with his mouth.  Steve felt himself starting to flush, the heat crawling up into his face, and swallowed.  Tony’s tongue sought out Steve’s nipple and curled around it, and the flash of pleasure it sent through him was startling, made Steve cry out despite himself.  He felt Tony grin against his skin, the scratch of his facial hair against the sensitive skin of his chest, even as he brought his tongue flat down over it, and Steve shuddered, half-overwhelmed by the lightning heat of the sensation.

 

God. 

 

He took a deep breath, shifted back a bit, moving back against the back of the bed, then pulled Tony into him.  Tony might be heavier, but Steve was still strong enough to move him, even to get his hands under him and lift him, and that was exactly what he did, pulling him into his lap so his knees landed on either side of Steve’s hips.  He could probably have done it even with Tony in the armor; in fact, he was sure he could (and wasn’t that a thought?).

 

“Hey,” Tony said, breathlessly.

 

Steve reached up, framed Tony’s face with his hands, running his fingers back into his hair.  He smiled at him.  “Yes?” he asked, grinning.

 

“Manhandling me?” Tony said, starting to grin a little back.

 

“Sure, a little,” Steve said, moving his fingers gently in Tony’s hair.  It was soft against his fingers, tangled already.  Tony’s erection was very hot and very present, pressed into his stomach, now.  “You got a problem with that?”

 

“Not really,” Tony said.  “You were pretty thorough about it the other day.  When we were sparring, I mean.”

 

“Not as thorough as I could be,” Steve said, smirking.

 

Tony’s skin darkened a little, and Steve could feel it heat against his hands.  Tony had flushed at that.  Steve grinned with delight.

 

“I’m sure that’s true,” Tony muttered.  He shifted his hips a little, up into Steve.  “Plan to demonstrate, or are you just teasing?”

 

“Maybe a little of both,” Steve informed him.

 

Tony smirked, now.  “I guess that’s acceptable,” he said, dropping his gaze to look at Steve from under his eyelashes, which apparently went straight both to somewhere in Steve’s chest to make it tighten a little and to his cock, making it jerk with a heated rush of desire.  Steve pulled Tony closer, tilted their foreheads together, and Tony bit his lip as it pressed their groins tighter up against each other.

 

It felt good, but Steve wasn’t that interested in rushing to the main event, not yet.  Instead he waited until Tony cast his eyes up toward him again, raising one eyebrow, then tilted Tony’s head with the grip he had on him and brought their lips together.  Tony sucked in his breath and opened his mouth, and Steve set about kissing him thoroughly, running his fingers back through his hair in slow circles as he did.  Tony made a low noise and curled his hands back around Steve’s neck, and his cock grew even hotter, slick and hard and needfully wet with precome as they kissed; Steve could feel it sliding hot against his stomach, so hard he half-wondered how far he could bring Tony toward climax just by kissing him with tongue.

 

Steve’s thumb caught on something ridged and hard, under Tony’s hair, and he followed it with the pad of his thumb, realizing it was a scar, and there were others he could feel against his fingers, at the base of Tony’s neck, just under his hair, just above his ear.  They must have healed fairly well, and his hair had come back in to cover them—and then Steve realized that the first time he’d seen Tony after he’d come back himself, his hair had been short but growing out in utter chaos, as had his stubble (he had looked fairly awful to tell the truth, not that that had mattered to Steve; what had been important was that he wasn’t going to die, and that they’d get his mind back).  And the next time he’d seen him after that, he’d had a haircut and a shave and looked more himself again.  He broke the kiss and sat back, just a little, and Tony looked up at him, his eyes blown and his mouth wet.  There was a certain rueful knowledge in his eyes, like he knew what Steve had noticed.

 

Steve rubbed at one of the scars with his thumb, raising his eyebrows at Tony.  “When did you get this?” he asked, quietly, figuring he might as well get right to the point.

 

Tony gave a rueful quirk of his mouth, then looked down, one hand moving up toward his head, then back down before he reached it, as if he’d thought better of actually making contact.  “They’ll disappear eventually,” he said.  “Extremis might be mostly inert, but some of the changes to my cellular makeup stuck.”

 

“I don’t think that’s what I asked,” Steve said, making his voice firmer this time.

 

Tony’s mouth twisted to one side even more for a moment, then he sighed.  “When Osborn scrambled my brains,” he said, and Steve knew instantly what he was talking about—it hadn’t been hard to find the news feed when he’d first come back.

 

The first time he’d seen it he’d almost been sick, physically, anger at Tony or not.  He hadn’t surrendered so that someone else who’d been wearing red, white, and blue could bash Tony’s skull in.

 

“I thought . . .” he had to swallow against the bile rising in his throat; he didn’t want to let on, that wasn’t really . . . sexy.  “I thought that the brain damage was self-inflicted.”

 

“Not all of it,” Tony said, then made a face, like he was embarrassed by the topic.  “Look,” he said, sounding apologetic, and raised one hand to curl his fingers around Steve’s bring it down, away from his head, “I’m fine now.  Don’t worry about it.”

 

 _Sure_ , Steve thought.  He was sure that was true.  Just like Tony had been fine when he was half-paralyzed.  Just like Tony had been fine after exposing himself to a flesh-eating toxin.  Just like Tony had been fine with an artificial heart he had to electrocute himself to charge.  Just like Tony had been fine after he’d been beaten to near-death and saved himself with an experimental retrovirus.  Just like Tony had been fine after stopping his heart to save Steve’s life.  Tony was always fine.

 

“Maybe I want to,” he said instead, and squeezed Tony’s hand.

 

“Huh?” Tony said, looked at Steve like he wasn’t making sense again.

 

“Maybe I want to worry about it,” Steve told him.

 

Tony shifted, looking uncomfortable.  “I don’t see why,” he said.

 

“Really?” Steve asked him sardonically.  “You have no idea.”

 

Tony just looked at him, but his face and the honest confusion there spoke volumes. 

 

Steve sighed.  “Think about it,” he told him, curved his fingers back into his hair, and kissed him again.

 

Tony returned the kiss eagerly, though Steve suspected it was at least half because it got the topic off Steve worrying about his wellbeing.  Well, he thought, a little wryly, whether they talked about it or not, he was going to worry about Tony—it wasn’t like this was a totally new occurrence, he’d been worrying about Tony off and on for years now, and he felt like he had a handle on it.  Tony was just going to have to live with the fact that Steve cared about him.  Changing the subject wasn’t going to help him there.  He pulled Tony into him and settled his hand more firmly at the back of his head, curled his other arm around his waist, and kissed him, hotly, demanding, thoroughly, because Tony was alive right now, and in his arms, and still brilliant and complicated and wonderful and himself, and Osborn hadn’t been able to crush that out of him.  No one would.  Especially not if Steve had anything to say about it.

 

He kissed him until Tony’s hands were digging into him tightly—bruisingly, Steve thought, at least they would bruise for a while, with a little bit of a thrill that settled right in his groin.  Tony was panting, his hips jerking and trembling a little as if he was desperate not to rub against Steve, controlling himself with a herculean effort for whatever reason, like Steve would have minded one bit if he just pressed himself close and writhed on top of him. 

 

Tony kissed him back just as hotly, just as passionately and intensely, his eyes squeezed shut tight, and from the way his cock felt against Steve’s hip, he really was close just from that.  Steve himself felt hot and trembling and overwhelmed, flushed all over, by the time he pulled away from the kiss.

 

Tony’s eyes shaded open just slightly, still heavy-lidded and mostly covered by his heavy lashes, his face flushed and his lips wet and bruised-looking.  He was still panting.  Steve ran one hand down his back, breathless himself, and Tony shuddered, squirmed his hips a little more and set one hand on Steve’s chest as if to hold himself up while he gasped for breath.

 

He was beautiful like this, Steve thought, as Tony raised his head a little, looking up as if trying to focus on Steve—he didn’t even have words for how beautiful, and in a way that felt special, unique, everyone was, after all, beautiful in their own way, but seeing Tony like this after all the time they’d spent together sent a thrill through Steve that he couldn’t explain.  Tony ran his thumb over Steve’s nipple again, circling it, and Steve would have thought it was accidental, but Tony was looking at him, his lips parted, like he was waiting for the way Steve flushed and panted, the sound of pleasure that escaped him despite himself, the way Steve tilted his head back, and Steve knew he hadn’t imagined the way Tony’s flush deepened at that noise, the way he smiled a little or the way his cock jumped.

 

Steve knew he was close himself, and he hoped this wouldn’t push him over the edge, because he’d had plans to draw this out a little longer, but he reached for Tony’s other hand, pulled it to his chest, then put both hands on Tony’s shoulders to hold him up, waiting and watching his face.  Tony immediately circled his thumb over Steve’s other nipple, and _damn_ , that felt good—Steve moaned, his hips jerked despite himself, and Tony moaned a little, himself, a low husky thing back in his throat, and his eyes slid half closed, his cock spilling pre-come over Steve’s hip.  Steve let Tony keep at it for a while, and the way Tony reacted every time, almost like Steve’s hands were on him, the way he bit at his lower lip with every sound Steve made, his sounds of pleasure, along with the sweetly fiery sensation from his callused thumbs teasing at Steve’s sensitive chest, had Steve panting and desperate before too long.  Eventually he pulled Tony’s hands away, up toward his own neck, and Tony made a slight sound of loss, and Steve moaned at that, had to brace his forehead on Tony’s shoulder for a moment.  Tony used the opportunity to rub his hands up along Steve’s neck, work one there, kneading and stroking the back of his neck like he was giving him a massage again, his other hand moving up into his hair.  His lips grazed against Steve’s forehead, and Steve almost whimpered at the way that tugged something tight in his chest and was a little surprised at himself.

 

He ran one hand down over Tony’s back again, soothingly, trying to steady himself, too, with the motion, and Tony moaned a little, kissed his forehead again, still rubbing at Steve’s neck with the heel of his hand, his other hand curled lightly against Steve’s neck.  They stayed like that for a while—Steve wasn’t eager to push, all of a sudden.  He wanted this to last, even more than he had before.  Tony didn’t seem willing to wait, though, and his hands began to wander again, exploring Steve’s chest, running over his neck and shoulders, up into his hair.  Steve took a deep breath, kissed him one more time, the kiss wet with Tony’s mouth so kiss-swollen and bruised, and his the same way, but brief, and then reached forward and wrapped his hand around Tony’s cock.

 

Tony’s cock was well proportioned but average-sized, which meant it fit almost entirely into one of Steve’s hands, and in Steve’s opinion, it was just as ridiculously attractive as the rest of Tony.  He wrapped one hand all the way around it and squeezed, just slightly, rubbing his thumb against the head as he did, and Tony cried out, rose up on his knees slightly and tossed his head back, his hands clenching into fists.  Steve gave it a few experimental strokes, trying to figure out if Tony liked slow and steady better, or rough and fast, gentle or firm.  Tony just panted, eyes half-open and dazed and fixed on Steve’s face, but he groaned when Steve gave him a slow, firm stroke down to the root, the short dark curls of his pubic hair, groaned and trembled.  Steve squeezed him a little, working him slowly, loving the heat and velvety smoothness of the skin under his hand, and Tony gave another groan, this one even lower, a sound Steve thought was almost a whine, if it hadn’t been so low in his chest, his hands fumbled at Steve’s sides, and his hips jerked forward helplessly.

 

Steve took a deep breath, had to, so focused on Tony he felt like he was falling in toward him, like he couldn’t have looked away unless his life literally depended on it.  When Tony’s fumbling hand finally closed around Steve’s own cock, it startled him so that he jumped, so caught up in Tony that he hadn’t even realized Tony’s fingers were close to him.  Tony bit his lip, moaned a little more as his fingers curled around Steve’s length, then gave a crooked half-smile.  He stroked Steve loosely, his eyes half-open but fixed on him.

 

Steve wondered dazedly which of them would come first, but then it was hard to think anything at all.  Tony’s hand was knowing and insistent on his cock, and he knew just how to twist his wrist to make pleasure shudder deep through Steve, feel like it was shaking the very core of him—and then there was watching Tony, too, as he gasped and shook, turned his head to the side, sometimes, when Steve did something particularly pleasurable, like he was embarrassed to react too visibly and was trying to hide the twist of his face, the quiet cries he made, his breathless pants for air, in his shoulder.  He had done that last time, too, Steve thought disjointedly, and had just enough presence of mind to reach out, thread his free hand through the damp, sweat-curly hair at the back of Tony’s neck, and grip him tightly, pulling him back.  Tony’s face scrunched up, twisted, but he couldn’t shake Steve off, and finally he stopped fighting him and just stared at Steve, eyes glassy and face flushed.  Steve leaned forward and kissed him, light and quick, just to reassure him, and Tony’s face twisted again.  He moaned, softly, trembling, even as Steve went back to stroking his cock.  He squeezed him a little more, thumbed over the head of his cock again, rubbing his neck at the same time with his other hand, and Tony made a soft, broken little noise, like he was surprised by it, and came.

 

His eyes closed when he did, and he went up on his knees a little, again, then sagged back down, bottom resting flush against Steve’s thighs.  His come mostly splattered over his own chest, getting all over Steve’s fingers, too, as he gave him a few more strokes.  He would have wobbled, except that Steve was still holding him at his neck.  Steve had been watching his face, and he flushed more deeply, his lips parting, and for a moment he looked incredibly open, and so vulnerable Steve dug his fingers in a little more against his neck in pure protective impulse.  He pulled Tony closer, let him slump into Steve’s shoulder, and ignored the come all over his hand to wrap it around his back after a moment.

 

Tony opened his eyes a little, moved his hand back to Steve’s cock even as he was panting out the last aftershocks of his own climax into Steve’s shoulder.  He squeezed his hand, pulled up, then back down, and that was it, Steve couldn’t hold off any longer.  He buried his own face in Tony’s shoulder in return, heard himself give a hoarse cry, and the pleasure overtook him, slamming into him like a blow.   He lost track of things for a few minutes.

 

When he came back to himself, Tony had both arms wrapped around him, stroking one hand through his hair, the other wrapped around his back, still straddling his thighs, and his own breathing was coming as unevenly as Steve’s.  Steve pulled him down a little, more solidly into his chest, and lay back against the pillows, as completely sated and exhausted as he’d ever felt.  Tony shifted a little, twitched his hand toward Steve’s cock and lifted his head, questioningly, as if asking if he wanted to go again, but Steve barely had enough energy left to smile at him and shake his head.  He turned his head to pillow it against Tony’s hair and nuzzled in a little, kissing his forehead, and Tony sighed, his hand going limp against Steve’s chest.

 

The feeling of Tony’s hand flat over his heart was the last conscious thought Steve registered before falling asleep.

 

\-----

 

Tony woke up to the nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something important.  It jolted him awake, and he opened his eyes with a gasp, only to shiver as he realized that he was sprawled out naked in bed in his own apartment, there was cold air on his ass, he was lying on top of Steve, and what—

 

Steve.  Oh, God.  His apartment.  Right.  Steve had come to Seattle to see him, and well, then they’d had sex, which Tony figured was why Steve had bothered to come all the way out there in the first place.  It had to be . . . right?  Why else would he have taken all the trouble to see Tony—he couldn’t just want to spend time with him, could he?  He’d never made a trip all the way just to see him before now.  Had he?

 

He tried to move, felt himself stick uncomfortably, and made a face.  Well, that was one thing he’d forgotten right there.  He got a hand down, pulled himself away from Steve gingerly, and sat up.

 

Steve’s hand slid away from his back, where it had been resting, as he did.  Steve had been . . . holding him, really, both arms around him and his face tucked in against Tony’s hair, and Tony’s heart gave a wrenching lurch, sort of, at that realization, and turned over in his chest.

 

Okay, that was stupid.  Steve just liked cuddling, and Tony needed to remember that.  And especially needed to remember that it didn’t mean anything.  And what Steve was doing here in the first place (why, why was Steve here in the first place, anyway?) and—Tony took a deep, shaking breath, because he’d honestly almost forgotten what this was about.  And he’d been a selfish lover and let himself fall asleep, and—and he was an idiot, it wasn’t anything new.  He ran his hands back through his hair, blew his breath out.

 

He felt so cold, his mind dazed and wandering and still half-asleep.  He knew at least part of it was the loss of Steve’s warmth—he was almost like a furnace, radiating heat, and pulling away from that left Tony shivering.  He hoped the loss of his body heat didn’t do the same for Steve, even if he didn’t produce nearly as much warmth himself.  He rubbed one hand across his face and reached down to pull the blankets downward, underneath Steve, so he could cover him with them, then stood up. 

 

His knees almost folded, and he had to catch himself against the side of the bed.  He looked down—then stared down, at his hand, the way it was covered up to the elbow in the repulsor gauntlet of the armor.  Shit shit shit.  When had he done that?

 

 _Just now.  Because you felt cold and you slipped and it feels like safety to you.  You complete dumbass._   He really must be still half-asleep to summon the armor like that.  He closed his eyes, willed the armor away, back into his bones, forced his breathing to even out, forced himself to focus.

 

At least the gauntlet was gone when he opened his eyes again.  He managed to get himself out the bedroom door, careful when he opened it so as not to bother Steve, or as careful as he could be when he was already fumbling so badly, and down the hall a bit to the bathroom, and cleaned himself up by rote, did the same thing he’d done last time—wet a warm towel for Steve, returned to him.

 

Seeing him there in his bed—in his apartment, his own place, not the Tower, even though in a way that was his place, but it was more the team’s space, now, Tony would never have dreamed of reclaiming it as his own—it hit him, hard, right in the gut, and for a moment he just sort of stood there.  He hadn’t had . . . many people in here.  It had mostly just been him, since he did almost all of his work with the people at Resilient, well, there.  He’d never thought he’d see Steve Rogers of all people here, in Tony’s bed, sprawled sound asleep on his back across the sheets and pillows.  And he really was asleep—he looked peaceful, relaxed, completely out for the count.  It was good to see him that relaxed, but strange to see him . . . here.

 

And then the towel started dripping against his arm, and he jumped a little before it spurred him into motion again.  Steve really was deeply asleep; he didn’t even stir as Tony sat down on the bed.

 

Tony just turned back the covers and sponged Steve clean in silence, without him waking, though he shifted a little, murmured in his sleep as if it felt good, nestling his face into the pillow so that his hair tousled against it, fanning out over the fabric.  Tony dried him off with the end of the towel and covered him with the blankets again, more completely this time, then leaned in, almost kissed him on the forehead, before he stopped himself.

 

That wasn’t for him to do, not when Steve wasn’t awake to enjoy the affection.  He swallowed and got up, went into the bathroom and washed the towel out before putting it away.

 

He glanced at himself in the mirror, then stopped, took a closer look.  He looked . . . well, like someone who’d just had some damn good sex.  His lips were puffy, bruised.  His hair was a mess.  He was flushed, and his cheek was pink where he’d been sleeping on Steve.  He rubbed at it.  Pink and warm.

 

“God damn it,” Tony muttered.  He knew he’d gotten too—swept up in it.  Every time.  Every time, he forgot himself, got all emotional and . . . too much.  Steve was just here for some fun sex with a friend, not for Tony to make it all heavy and weird between them, and he kept doing that.  Over-investing.  Making more of it than it was, just because _he_ had feelings.  He needed to quit it before Steve got impatient with it, before he brought Steve’s enjoyment down too much, made everything . . . too much.  Steve could have anyone, and he . . . he still couldn’t figure out why he was even slumming it with Tony like this.  He didn’t want to drive him away through anything he did, and . . . well, why would anyone want Tony to be in love with them?  Why would Steve?  He didn’t want to ruin this with anything like that.  Even if the sex had been good so far, even if Steve had enjoyed it.

 

The sex had been better than good, it had been incredible.  The way Steve had held him, had touched him, he’d felt—

 

“Don’t look at me like that, you fucking moron,” Tony told his reflection, and turned away abruptly, not wanting to look at himself anymore.  He put one hand over his eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

 

He remembered the last time he felt like that.  He had no way of knowing if there had been times in between.  But he remembered it vividly, like it had been yesterday, Rumiko’s hair dark over the blankets, her arms tight around him like she was afraid he’d get away somehow.  Her breath had been warm against his shoulders, and she’d laughed in her sleep.

 

They’d fought that day and she’d gone back to Japan.  The next time he’d seen her—

 

Tony dropped his arm, gripped his own elbows tightly.  She’d been dying in his arms.

 

He got himself out of the bathroom in a rush, despite the way he almost tripped and fell over his own feet in the wave of sudden nausea, caught himself on the floor of the hall and stumbled into his own room again, pulled his robe out of the closet.  He was breathing too hard, too fast.  He got himself into it somehow, though he banged his elbow hard enough he almost swore, had to bite his lip not to.  He didn’t want to wake Steve up.  He pushed one hand back through his hair again and took a deep breath, had to force himself to.

 

He looked back at Steve.  He was still asleep, sprawled out across the bed.  The contrast to Tony, who was standing there a shaking wreck, could not have been more obvious.

 

The way the depths of the loneliness hit him surprised him, all at once, and with a strikingly sharp ache.  He wanted someone’s arms around him so vividly and suddenly that he was angry with himself.

 

This was pathetic.

 

Sure, he was lonely.  What was he going to do, cry his eyes out over it?  He wouldn’t be lonely if he’d quit ruining everything he touched, if he stopped getting the people who loved him killed, now would he?  That’d solve that little problem real fast.  He was luckier than he deserved—Steve had spent the night with him, was friends with him again, was _right there_ in his bed.  Even though Tony had as good as gotten him killed.  Preemptively, this time, he thought, and had to swallow hard against a hysterical laugh.  But Steve had come back, and forgave him, and everything was as perfect as he could have ever had any reasonable expectation it would be, and then more on top of it.  They’d just had fantastic sex and he was what, going to have a breakdown over it?  Seriously?  Just because Steve didn’t care about him exactly the way he wanted?

 

Apparently, yes.  God, why did Steve even bother with someone like him in the first place?

 

He wrenched his thoughts away from that, from all of it.  There was a thought crawling around in the back of his mind— _I need a drink I need a drink I’d feel better if I had a drink just one_ —that Tony steadfastly ignored, too, the same way he always did.  Instead he crossed the room, hitting the controls to lighten the opacity on the windows as he passed by so he could stare out the window at the dark sky, made himself take a few deep breaths.  It felt quieter here than in New York, even though Seattle was a city too.

 

And Steve had just shown up there.  Out of nowhere.  Tony figured he must have been really stressed, really wanted that booty call, after whatever mission he’d been on.

 

He wondered why Rumiko had come back at all.  What had brought her back, gotten her killed?  What had made Steve want to sleep with him?  It couldn’t have been just that long ago drunken kiss.

 

He looked back at Steve, tucked into Tony’s bed, his sprawl loose and easy.  As he watched, Steve grunted in his sleep, turned onto one side, his arm sliding over the sheet.

 

Tony swallowed.  He didn’t want him to get hurt.  He pressed his forehead against his biceps, took a deep breath.

 

What would he do if he got Steve hurt again?

 

What could you even do to make up for something like that?  Hadn’t Tony done enough to Steve already?

 

He needed to stop it, stop this.  It was pathetic, and it wasn’t . . . wasn’t helping.  God, he was so cold.  Was it cold in here? Steve didn’t look like he was shivering.

 

Despite himself, he returned to the side of the bed, rested one hand against Steve’s shoulder, trying to make sure he wasn’t as cold as Tony felt—Steve hated the cold.  But his skin was so warm it almost burned against Tony’s hand, and he jerked it away, suddenly afraid he’d make Steve just as cold as he was.

 

Steve muttered in his sleep, and his hand moved again.  Tony shifted away, would have gotten back up, except that Steve muttered, without opening his eyes, “Tony.”  He yawned.  “Come back to bed.”

 

Tony froze.  “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he murmured, leaning in and keeping his voice low.  “Sorry.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“Mmm, nah,” Steve mumbled, and the New York was very thick in his voice.  “Y’first.”  His hand curled around Tony’s wrist and tugged.  “C’mon now.”

 

Tony tried to pull away, but Steve wouldn’t let go.  His grip was immovable.

 

Steve liked cuddling, Tony remembered suddenly.  He chewed on the inside of his cheek.  Slowly, very slowly, he pulled back the blankets and lay down next to Steve, trying not to feel like he was making excuses for himself.  And mostly failing.  The robe tangled around his legs, riding up, and he tugged it back down.  He pulled the blankets back over the both of them—

 

And was surprised when Steve wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close, pressing his face into his shoulder.  “There y’are,” he said, voice thick with sleep.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, a little more shakily than he’d wanted to.  “Go back to sleep, okay?”

 

“You first,” Steve said again.  His hand came up, settled at the back of Tony’s neck, sliding into his hair, and he yawned.

 

He was asleep again, heavy and limp with it, breathing evenly, a few moments later.

 

Tony didn’t feel quite so cold now.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  That really was pathetic.  But Steve’s hands, on the back of his neck, against his back, helped, the warm presence of his body.  At least there was a clear and rational explanation for that, Steve’s body heat.

 

It wasn’t so bad, he thought suddenly.  At least Steve wanted to cuddle with him.  It had been Tony Steve was looking for, half-asleep, not someone else.

 

And hell, even if he just wanted a friend to sleep with, he still wanted him as a friend.

 

Tony sighed, blinked his eyes back open.  He looked at Steve’s face, soft and peaceful and relaxed, handsome and square-jawed and noble even in sleep.

 

“But I love you,” he whispered, and then made a face, smiled wryly at his own ridiculousness, and let his cheek rest against Steve’s shoulder.

 

This was enough.  He couldn’t see how Steve would ever love him.  Not like that.  Not after everything.  He’d gotten Rumiko killed—let Pepper down—just look at his history of romantic relationships and you’d get a tangled train of fuck ups and failure and letting people down.  He’d failed Whitney so badly—hell, half of the people who’d had anything with him were dead.

 

They’d all deserved better than him.

 

He’d take what Steve was willing to give him, that was his last waking thought, and be happy with it, or he didn’t deserve to have any of it at all, anyway.

 

\----

 

Tony woke up feeling warm.  He blinked his eyes open, shaking the bleariness of sleep out of them, and realized that his face was pressed into his pillow, one arm clasped around it.  He was sprawled out on his stomach, his robe loosely tangled around his body.  The blankets had been tucked carefully in around him.

 

He blinked again, a little confused, then pushed himself up, ran his hand back through his hair, down over his face.  How had he—oh, right.  Steve had come by the night before, shown up out of the blue.  They’d had sex.  The bed was made up, though, and showed little sign of Steve’s presence except the way the other pillow was pressed down, showing where his head had lain.  Tony ran a hand over the depression, wishing a little wistfully that he could see more evidence that Steve had been there, since he figured he had already gotten up and what, headed out?  Maybe, Steve was pretty busy, and Tony figured he’d gotten what he’d come for.  It’d be nice to have more of a reminder, though, that they’d spent the night in bed together.

 

Tony bit his lip, as more memory filtered back in, and the little meltdown he’d had the night before came to mind.  Ugh.  He knew better than that.  He ran his hands back up, through his hair, sitting up and bringing his knees up to his chest, bracing his elbows on them.  He’d had such a good night last night—just working beside Steve in relative silence, sitting together, not side by side, but close and easy, had been . . . great, though he felt vaguely guilty for it, making Steve wait and just soaking up his time like that—like it was Tony’s time to waste.  But at least he’d gotten a lot of work done.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d been more productive than usual, even.  He wasn’t going to obsess over how he selfishly wanted more.  He definitely wasn’t going to fall apart over it.  He couldn’t afford to do that, anyway.

 

Right, it was time to stop worrying about this.  He had stuff to do, needed to get up and ready for the day.  He didn’t have time for this kind of self-indulgent . . . whatever this was.  Sitting around in bed and moping.  Tony pushed himself up to his feet.  He showered—Steve had hung his wet towels neatly up to dry, and Tony touched them, swallowing a little—and shaved, already thinking about what he had to do today, getting his mind in the game.  There was plenty to do, and he still wasn’t quite sure how to handle the competition he was getting from more dubious sources, but since when was that new?  He was thinking about automotive engines and the problem with Detroit Steel and how to handle it as he finished getting dressed and went back into the living room, fastening his cufflinks.

 

“Hey!” Steve said, cheerfully, turning toward him.  “Good morning, fella.”

 

Tony stared at him, still holding one cufflink and the cuff of his shirt.  “Steve?” he said blankly.

 

Steve just grinned.  “That’s me,” he said.  “Want some breakfast?  I can’t make much other than eggs and bacon, but I made enough for both of us.”

 

 _What are you doing here_ was on Tony’s lips, but he figured he couldn’t ask that, since he knew exactly what Steve was doing there, he’d just . . . expected him to be gone already.  But he wasn’t.  He was right there.  “I don't usually eat breakfast,” he managed after a moment, finally fastening the last cufflink.  Which Steve knew perfectly well.

 

“How about this,” Steve said, still grinning slightly, “you eat the eggs and I won’t hold the coffee hostage.  Deal?”

 

Tony managed a smile in return, a bit rueful.  Steve looked . . . great, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and sneakers, blond hair gold in the light coming in from Tony’s windows, smiling happily like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than the kitchen-slash-living room of Tony’s apartment.  “It’s a deal, I guess,” he said.  “You drive a hard bargain.”  He started toward the coffee.

 

“High praise, coming from the master business tycoon himself,” Steve said, and Tony made a face at him, surprised when Steve caught him with one hand on his hip, pulling him in slightly, the other still on the frying pan he was using.  Steve kissed him, light and soft, then let him go.

 

Tony stared at him again, surprised by the easy affection, until he realized what he was doing and took the cup of coffee Steve nodded at behind him before he himself turned back to the frying pan.  Tony buried his face in the cup, took a few swallows to hide what Steve’s presence, his affection, was doing to him.

 

He figured . . . Steve was just in a good mood.  And they were friends again . . . right?  It was great to see him so upbeat and relaxed, that was for sure.  Yeah, he—it was best just to concentrate on that.  How good it was to see him happy.  He’d do that.

 

“You and your coffee,” Steve said, sounding fond, and Tony narrowed his eyes at him over the cup.

 

“Don’t knock the rocket fuel, okay,” he said.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve replied with a slight smile.

 

“I need it to live, you realize,” Tony said.

 

Steve laughed.  “Believe me, I know,” he said.  “I’ve noticed.  And God forbid you go into caffeine withdrawal and turn into Tony the Grumpy Coffee Monster.”

 

“I . . . well, I guess that’s fair,” Tony allowed, looking down with a wince and a wry smile to show he knew it was true.

 

“It’s okay,” Steve said.  He turned around and handed Tony a plate of scrambled eggs, with a few strips of bacon on the side, smiling.  “I don’t mind that much.”

 

Tony sat there obediently and ate it, and they ended up talking again—it surprised him, how easy it was, just to make conversation with Steve, and before he knew it, he’d actually eaten the entire plate, as well as downed three cups of coffee.  He still couldn’t figure out what Steve was doing there, with him, making him breakfast, but it was hard to mind being able to share his company a little longer.  “I can’t stay,” he told Steve apologetically as he wiped his mouth, got to his feet.  “I have to get to work.”  He wasn’t sure what Steve was expecting—hadn’t really been sure this whole time, to be honest—but he was afraid he wasn’t going to be much fun as a companion, whatever it was.  He definitely couldn’t stay in the house and have sex all day.  Though Steve had never struck him as that sort of hedonistic type, anyway.

 

“That’s fine,” Steve said, still sounding cheerful.  “I figured.  I thought I’d spring an inspection on the SHIELD base out here, see how they react to Commander Rogers showing up out of nowhere.”  He grinned, smirking a little, and Tony chuckled despite himself, hid a grin of his own, at the thought of that, and the likely panicked reaction it would cause.  “But that’s only if you’re okay with me staying another day,” Steve went on, sounding very earnest now.  “I thought I could spend the night again, but I can always head on back if that’s not going to work out.”

 

“Of course you can stay,” Tony said recklessly, despite all the work he had to do.  “Absolutely.”  At least, he figured, he’d gotten plenty done the night before.  That was something.  He didn’t want to waste more of Steve’s time with work, but there just wasn’t any way around it—that was why he was here in Seattle in the first place, after all.  He wished he could devote more time to him, he really did, but that was how it was.  And Steve probably didn’t want him clinging too tight and acting like this was more than it was, anyway.  Probably wanted some space.  It wasn’t like this was a real relationship, and he’d be expecting dates and dinner.

 

“If you’re too busy, don’t worry about it,” Steve said.  “I don’t mind, anyway.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Tony said.  He gave Steve a smile.  “Honestly.  I do need to head out soon, though.  Sorry, it’s just, we’re trying to make this deadline, and . . . .”  God, he sounded like an idiot.  He hadn’t stammered this much even when he’d still been in school.

 

He wasn’t sure what any of this was about—was it that Steve wanted more sex, hadn’t got enough last night?  Was that why he was planning to stay?  Or did he just not want to make the trip for one night—was this a visit between friends now, like the old days?  Or was he supposed to be acting like Steve’s boyfriend, even if he wasn’t?

 

He had no idea what to do, and he really wasn’t used to that.  And he didn’t want to mess this up—if he screwed this up with Steve, it might ruin everything, not just this, but their friendship, even Tony’s role on the team—he just really didn’t want to get this wrong.  He couldn’t afford to get this wrong.  He had to get it right.  He had no idea how he was going to do that, especially since his record wasn’t exactly good with things like this, or with Steve.  But he had to.  He couldn’t fuck this up, too.  After everything he’d already screwed up, to get another chance at this, at all this with Steve, a friendship with him again, and to know that he had destroyed it all over again—he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to take that.

 

“I get it,” Steve said.  He smiled back, and it was so sincere and honest it almost made Tony’s breath stop.  “Thanks for having breakfast with me.”

 

Tony really couldn’t seem to remember how to do anything for a second—breathe, think, anything, not at that smile.  “I.  Of course,” he said, and had to swallow.  “It was great, big guy.”

 

“I’m glad I came,” Steve said, and then he put his hand on Tony’s cheek, leaned in, and kissed him.  Tony couldn’t help it, the way he almost froze under it, his breath catching in his throat for what felt like far too long before he remembered to lean into the kiss, return it, make it deeper and warmer.  He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to breathe, and then Steve was pulling away, smoothing his hand down to Tony’s shoulder and squeezing.  “So go and do your best work, Avenger.  Don’t let me keep you, anyhow.”

 

Just hearing Steve call him Avenger, after everything that had happened—now, right now—made something in Tony’s stomach flutter and twist.  Steve wasn’t even on the team, technically speaking, and yet . . . “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said.  “Look, I’ll be back around five o’clock, probably, but if I’m a little bit late . . . .”

 

“I won’t worry about it,” Steve said, smiling.

 

“You can have my key,” Tony said, grabbing the set of them off the counter.  “I can just enter my passcode.”  He pulled the key to the apartment off, handed it to Steve.

 

Steve looked at the key in his hand, then took it, looking up at him again.  “Really?” he said, a little hushed.

 

“Sure,” Tony said.  “Of course.”  He smiled a little, trying to show that it was no big deal.  “I know I can trust you with it.  I mean, come on, you’re basically the most trustworthy person in the country.  That’s why we put you in charge, right?”

 

Steve gave him a look, but it quickly faded and was replaced by another smile.  “Well, thanks, Tony,” he said.

 

“Well, yeah,” Tony said.  It would be so much more convenient for him, and like he’d said, it wasn’t like he couldn’t trust Steve.  And if he wanted to do this a lot, or at least again, sometime, Tony didn’t want him not to be able to get in.  “So I, uh, I’d better go, but . . . have fun terrorizing SHIELD grunts and everything, and make yourself at home once you get back.  Or.  Whatever.”

 

Steve nodded.  “Got it,” he said, closing his fingers around the key.  He slid his thumb over it, slowly, then slipped it into his pocket.  “Hey,” he said, smiling a little, and tilted his head slightly.  “Gonna give me another kiss, or do I just have to be content with what I’ve already got?”

 

“Oh,” Tony said, feeling off balance, a little flustered, and uncomfortable with it. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been this badly off balance over something like this—and he probably couldn’t, actually, remember it, he thought with a flash of wry irony.  He just . . . hadn’t expected Steve to ask for another kiss.  Kissing in the kitchen after breakfast wasn’t exactly something he’d envisioned for their sort of relationship.  If you could call it that.  But if Steve wanted it, of course that was fine with him.  He’d like to kiss him a lot more than that, but he didn’t want to seem well, clingy.  Or needy.  Or demanding.  “Of course.”  He leaned in again, pressed his lips gently against Steve’s, then tilted his head, leaned in, kissed him more firmly.  He put both hands on his sides, opened his mouth, pressing closer, deepening the kiss, then pulled back again, left another kiss against the side of Steve’s mouth before he stepped away.  He had to open his eyes again, and he wondered when they’d fluttered closed.  “Good?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Steve and smiling a little.

 

Steve flushed lightly in response, and smiled, eyelashes flicking down over his eyes.  “Yeah,” he said.  He brushed his fingers over the back of Tony’s cheek, then leaned in, kissed him there quickly, just above his beard.  “Right,” he said, looking up.  “You’d better get going and all.”

 

“Right,” Tony said.  God, he thought, Steve was sweet.  Why was he even treating him like this—why was he even bothering with all the little stuff?  They hadn’t acted like this when they were just friends.

 

Well, he figured, he knew the answer to that.  Because he was Steve Rogers, and that was what he did, who he was.  It was just . . . Tony swallowed, looked down for a second, then smiled at him and went over to the coffee table to get his briefcase, actually packing it with papers and notes and his laptop—that was a change, these days.  “Okay,” he said.  “Heading out.  See you later, baby.”

 

He winced.  He needed to be more careful.  Baby?  God, really?  Steve must have thought he was such an idiot.  But Steve just grinned again and waved a little.  “See you later,” he said.

 

So Tony waved back.  He was relieved that Steve didn’t seem to mind, at least, when the pet names just slipped out.  Or at least he was okay with it.  He himself was still a little confused, but he figured that was his problem.  He smiled at Steve, then went out the door, closing it behind him, focusing his mind on the day ahead of him as well as he could.  He really did need to get some work done.

 

\-----

 

Steve wasn’t in a big hurry to get over to SHIELD.  He cleaned up instead, clearing up after breakfast, washing the plates and cups.  Tony didn’t have much food in the house—the eggs were actually going to expire in a few days, Steve had noted with fond exasperation.  But it wasn't like he could claim a better record, when it came right down to it.  Plenty of food had gone bad on him in his time, though he always felt a horrible twinge of guilt when it did, vestiges of a young life when he’d never had enough, he figured.  It felt awful to waste any kind of food.  He kind of wanted to buy more, restock Tony’s refrigerator, but he knew Tony would see that as imposing on his privacy—Tony could take care of himself, after all, he was a grown man, not a child.  And besides, he probably wouldn’t eat that food, either, so instead Steve just threw away the expired groceries—he wouldn’t want Tony eating them by mistake and getting sick, after all—and cleaned up after himself and his cooking.

 

It had been good, spending the morning with Tony.  They hadn’t been able to do that, last time, and Steve had . . . wanted to, had missed it even though he’d never had it, when they couldn’t.  It had reminded him of old times again, in the mansion, seeing Tony when he’d just gotten out of bed, and sometimes when he was just going to bed, or hadn’t been to bed at all—but his tousled hair damp from the shower, freshly shaved face, the blissful look he got when he got his first cup of coffee, all of that was familiar.  Wonderfully familiar, Steve thought, smiling to himself.

 

Waking up next to Tony wasn’t, but it was unfamiliar in the best of ways.  Tony had been sprawled over his chest after clearly having curled up around him sometime in the night.  Steve had just sat there after waking up a few moments, running his hand over Tony’s back and feeling the silky material of his robe shift under it, the warmth of his body through the fabric—Tony must have gotten cold sometime during the night, if he’d put the robe on, though Steve hoped sleeping curled up next to him would have helped with that.  At least it would have kept him warmer than he’d have been on his own, wouldn’t it?  His hair was a tangled mess, and Steve had spent some time running his fingers through it, studying the stubble coming in along Tony’s jaw, instead of the neatly shaved appearance he had most of the time, just enjoying how utterly relaxed Tony felt against him.  Eventually he’d gotten up and pulled the blankets up over Tony, tucking him in carefully in case he got cold again, though with the morning sun beginning to warm up the room even through the tinted windows, he doubted he would.  Steve had left him there, figuring he’d needed the sleep, and started off on his morning run, enjoying the chance to have it in a new place, get a feel for the area.  He’d slept incredibly well, much better than he had been lately, despite the unfamiliar bed, and he’d woken up feeling even better rested and stronger, more energetic, than normal.

 

And then he’d come back, started making himself some breakfast, because he was starving, and gotten to see Tony fresh out of the shower.  He’d looked so blankly confused when he’d seen Steve that Steve had figured he had to be half asleep still, which wasn’t all that unusual before Tony had consumed caffeine in the mornings.  He didn’t want to keep Tony away from his work or take up too much of his time, but it was nice just to see him—even nicer to kiss him, feel the soft warmth of his lips on his, the solidness of his body. 

 

He hadn’t expected Tony to give him a key to his place, not at all, and that made him feel warm, somehow, like this was real now, somehow official, even though they’d only been together what, a few weeks?  Most of that not spent together, even.

 

Being with Tony, all of it, still felt new, but not strange at all, surprisingly easy and natural, like they’d just been waiting to fall into this all along and just hadn’t realized it.  Steve kept finding himself noticing things about Tony that he’d known all along, but maybe hadn’t really ever let himself think about before, not like this.  He’d had a . . . a what to even call it, _feelings_ for Tony for a long time, he’d known it, somewhere in the back of his mind, but what was the use of dwelling on it if he wasn’t going to do anything about it?  He’d tried not to think about it too much, or let it affect how he treated Tony, either, because that wouldn’t have been fair, especially when Tony had no idea.

 

He still wasn't sure how well he’d done at that, but now that he was free to look, free to think about it all, it was like he couldn’t stop noticing things, things that made his chest feel warm and his stomach flip and tighten—the way Tony had of running his hands through his hair and leaving it messy and tousled, the way he held himself, with his shoulders back and his hands down, or with his hip cocked to one side and his hand in his pocket, the blue of his eyes underneath those thick dark eyelashes, the way he would rest his chin on his hand when he was thinking or fidget idly while he was working, the rounded curve of his behind and the dip of his spine, the strength of his shoulders, the way he smiled, and sometimes looked at Steve as if he had no idea what to make of him, his eyes dark and hooded and a little searching.  He trembled against Steve in bed and didn’t like meeting his eyes—Steve still couldn’t quite figure that out, was it too much, somehow?  Tony seemed so incredibly responsive in bed that he figured that simply touching was just as intense for him as it felt for Steve.  Which was . . . damn intense.

 

Those were new things, of course—things he’d never have had a chance to notice before.  But everything about Tony now—even the scent of his cologne, faint and expensive, and the constant tang of metal that hung around him—felt somehow different.  New and exciting somehow, along with that reassuring feeling of familiarity.  He was lucky to have this with him.  Steve was certain of that much.

 

After he had finished with the dishes, Steve took another shower, then put on his uniform and boots and got ready to go.  It was time to see how the SHIELD agents here were going to react to him showing up.  He didn’t expect they would know what to do with themselves at first—that was the whole point of doing it, after all.  He was curious to see how they’d handle it.  It took him a moment to figure out Tony’s lock, before he locked it behind him and headed out.

 

Just as he had expected, his arrival pretty much threw the SHIELD base into chaos.  They actually weren’t quite as thrown for a loop as he’d expected, which was impressive—they pulled things together fairly quickly, and didn’t show him as much of their panic as he’d thought they would.  They offered him a place to stay in the city, but Steve turned them down, telling him that he’d just come to see how they were running the place and that he had his own things to do.  There was some grumbling about him showing up out of nowhere, but not as much as there could have been, and Steve left with the feeling that they were feeling a bit chastened, but not humiliated, which was what he’d intended.

 

He spent the rest of the day seeing the sights in Seattle, after changing out of his uniform and putting on his bomber jacket and a baseball cap to help hide his face—he went down to Pike Place Market and watched them throw fish, bought some fruit from the market and then some coffee and nursed it while walking up and down the streets.  One of the women running a stall in the market said that the herbal tea she was selling helped with getting to sleep when he struck up a conversation with her, so Steve figured he might as well buy some, and then bought some more for Tony, on a whim.  He knew Tony had some trouble sleeping, too.  He also bought a magnet for the fridge that showed Iron Man zooming toward you, past the Space Needle, figuring Tony would get a kick out of it.  He spent some time down there, just sketching the street and the people walking by, enjoying the sunny weather, since he heard from the people around that it wasn’t likely to last.  Eventually he walked up to take the monorail to the Space Needle—they said they’d built it for the World’s Fair here, both the monorail and the Space Needle, and Steve thought that was pretty nifty, though he couldn’t work out why they hadn’t put the monorail through the whole city.  He walked around the park there for a while, up through the neighborhood to the top of Queen Anne Hill, and looked down at the city from a park he found with a good view.  He did a few more sketches there before he decided to head back to Tony’s place.  It wasn’t near five o’clock yet, but Steve figured he had a key, so why not?

 

He headed back and let himself in, and sure enough, there was no one around—the place was quiet, and just as he’d left it, though he locked the door behind him and checked it over once just to be certain; you never knew when someone was going to choose that day to start planting bugs or leave you a bomb in the closet.  Once he was satisfied the entire place was clean, including Tony’s closets (he owned a lot of suits that Steve figured were probably different but looked pretty much the same to him), Steve left the fruit he’d bought on the counter and headed over to sit on the sofa and draw some more—first more views of what he’d seen that day, and then he moved on to the inside of Tony’s apartment, and then, eventually, to sketching Tony.  He started with studies of his hands, from memory, long-fingered and clever despite all the nicks and scars and rough places his work left on them, the manicured nails a startling contrast to the hard calluses and rough scars.  He ended up drawing Tony’s hand curled in the sheet like he’d seen it that morning, and that progressed to a full sketch of Tony sprawled on his side in the blankets, his robe twisted around him, the way he had been when Steve had woken up. 

 

He couldn’t quite get his expression right, the mixture of relaxed softness and yet the way his mouth had been screwed up and his brow had wrinkled at times.  But eventually it was close enough for his taste—it still looked a little too soft, somehow, but he’d seen that softer expression on Tony’s face, too.  He let himself draw another sketch, this one intentionally of that softer expression on Tony’s face, concerned and thoughtful, brow screwed up as he looked at Steve and mouth solemn but fond, and then he found himself sketching Tony the way he’d looked on his knees in front of Steve, head bent to kiss his thigh and hair falling over his forehead, the way he’d looked with his back arched in pleasure, the way he’d looked just after his climax.  It was hard for him to get the expression right on that one, too, and it was only after he pulled back a little in frustration that he realized what, exactly, he was doing, and felt himself flush red.

 

Right.  He turned the page and started drawing silly doodles of Iron Man zipping around the Space Needle, a sketch of him flying past the monorail with one hand raised to wave at the passengers, until his flush at himself finally began to ease off a little.  He drew a few different angles, then started on a more detailed drawing of Tony sitting like he had been the night before, where Steve was sitting now, working, going off of the sketches he’d done then.  He was still working on it when the sky started to shade towards dusk, and he heard the door slide open.  He reached for the shield he was using, about to flip it to active, turned toward the door to see Tony step inside, and let it slip down again.

 

Tony closed the door behind him again and entered the code into the keypad to lock it, then set down his briefcase.  “Hey,” he said, straightening his shoulders a little in an unobtrusive stretch.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, with a smile, flipping his sketchpad closed and stowing it safely in his bag.  “Welcome home.”

 

Tony smiled back, though he looked tired.  “Good day?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, getting up.  “Very good, actually.”

 

“SHIELD sufficiently freaked out by you showing up?” Tony asked, moving forward into the room.  He put his briefcase on the table and opened it, lifting out most of the contents onto the coffee table.

 

“Just about,” Steve said, smirking now, as he reached the counter and found the things he’d bought for Tony that day.  “No running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and the base was in pretty good shape.”

 

“You just wanted to see them scramble, right?” Tony said, crossing the room toward him now.

 

“Pretty much,” Steve admitted.  “Then I went down to the city, saw some of the sights.  I bought you something.”  He handed Tony the magnet.

 

His face screwed up as he considered it, his mouth pulling to the side, but then he started to laugh.  “God, Steve,” he said.  “Yes.  Okay.  I love it.  Me and the Space Needle, what other Seattle landmarks do you need, right?”  He winked at Steve and skirted the counter to stick it on the front of the refrigerator.  “There,” he said.  “A treasured possession.”

 

“It was just so silly,” Steve said, grinning at Tony’s reaction.  “I couldn’t resist.  Anyway, I got some of this stuff for myself, so I bought some for you, too.”  He slid the tea over toward him across the counter.

 

Tony picked it up, looked at it dubiously.  “I seriously doubt this stuff works,” he said.

 

“The least you can do is try it,” Steve said with a shrug.  “It’s not like it’s going to hurt you.  I made chamomile tea for my mother all the time once she got sick.”

 

Tony looked at him a little more seriously, his eyes dark.  “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll give it a try.  Are you having trouble sleeping?”

 

Steve shrugged, a little embarrassed by the question.  He looked down at his hands for a moment.  “Some,” he admitted.  “Just . . . some nights, you know?”

 

Tony sighed.  “Oh, I know,” he said, and they just stood there for a moment before he put the tea away on top of the refrigerator and smiled at Steve, going to unfasten his cufflinks.  “So,” he said.  “I was going to change, but what were you thinking for dinner—eat in again?”

 

“Well,” Steve said, and tried his best not to sound hesitant.  They’d had sex already, for goodness’s sake, it shouldn’t be so intimidating to ask Tony out on a date.  “I was actually thinking we might go out.”

 

Tony blinked and said nothing.

 

“We don’t have to,” Steve continued, a little more quickly, feeling a little desperate all of a sudden.  “I just saw a place I wanted to try when I was out, and I thought . . . well, why not, right?”

 

Tony looked at him a moment longer, then nodded, gave him a smile.  “Right,” he said.  “Why not?  Is this a fancy place, or a diner?”

 

Steve smiled despite himself, relieved at that response.  “I don’t only eat at diners,” he said.

 

“Sure you don’t,” Tony said, a little absently.  “I just want to know if I should change.”

 

“Probably,” Steve said.  “Sort of casual, but still nice—that’s a thing, isn’t it?  But it won’t be a problem.  You always look sharp.”

 

Tony raised his eyebrows at him and chuckled.  “You’re forgetting what I look like when I’m working in the lab, I think,” he said.  “But thanks, honey.  I’ll change in a second and be right back, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said, still smiling, flushed a little at Tony calling him honey again—he couldn’t help it, even as Tony started for his bedroom and turned the corner out of sight.  It was just a casual, friendly dinner like they’d had out hundreds of times, but it was still going to be the first time they’d gone out together since, well, they’d started this, which made this their first date.  He figured he could go out like he was, so he just got his wallet and put his boots on while he waited for Tony.  He showed back up a moment later, in a different pair of slacks and a dark red collared shirt, the top few buttons open, and a leather jacket.

 

He looked great in it.  Steve had always thought Tony looked good in red—and he really looked particularly handsome in it right then.  “Looking good,” he said.

 

Tony gave him a loose smile.  “Sure,” he said.  “You look great yourself, big guy.  Where are we going?”

 

“I was thinking this little place I saw today,” Steve said.  “Great view of the water, Pacific seafood?”

 

“Sounds great,” Tony said.  “Lead on.  I haven’t really had a chance to really explore downtown, to be honest.”

 

“You’ve lived here before,” Steve pointed out.

 

Tony shrugged, smiling wryly.  “Always busy,” he said.

 

Steve supposed there was no way around that, but he couldn’t just let it slide.  “Well, you should take some more time to relax,” he said.

 

“Really?” Tony said, grinning a little more.  “You’re going to go there?  When was the last time you took a vacation, hot stuff?”

 

“Shush,” Steve said, reaching forward and taking Tony’s hands.  “Doesn’t change the facts.  You need some time off.”

 

Tony made a face, looked down.  “Well, I’m going out to dinner right now,” he said.  He pulled his hands away.  “That counts, doesn’t it?  Besides, like I said, you can’t talk.”

 

“I hope you enjoy this, then,” Steve said, smiling at him.  “Come on.”

 

“All right,” Tony said, smiling back.  He opened the door.  “Do you want to drive?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said.  “If you’ll let me.”

 

“No problem,” Tony said, gesturing at his car.  “You know where the place is, after all.  Go right ahead.”

 

They went out to the car and got in, Steve in the driver’s seat.  “Well, you’ll have to give me some directions,” he said, “I don’t know this city that well.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Tony said with another smile.  “But no promises from me, either.”

 

But they made it without much trouble—they even found a parking space in a garage before too long.  It was expensive, but Tony said it was better than wasting time trying to find a cheaper place, and insisted on paying.

 

It was nice to walk with Tony down to the restaurant, in the clear of the evening.  He was as clever and funny as always, though he kept looking at Steve a little sideways, his eyes a little shadowed under his eyelashes, with a thoughtful look on his face, a wry little curl at one corner of his mouth.  Steve thought about taking his hand, or putting one hand against the small of his back, but in the end he wasn’t sure if he should—they hadn’t really talked about doing anything where people could see or making things public, and he wasn’t sure how Tony felt about it.  He’d never heard anything about him being with men before this, after all—maybe he liked to keep it quiet, maybe that was how he did things.  So he just left it, figuring that he’d have time to hold his hand later, if he really wanted it.

 

They found the restaurant just fine, and it turned out to have the great view Steve had hoped it would.  Tony looked like he liked the place, too—he smiled when they came in, at least.  So that was a good thing.  They sat down, and Steve did reach out, just for a second, and took Tony’s hand, squeezing it lightly, before he reclaimed it and picked up his menu.

 

Tony stared at him a moment, then swallowed and picked up his own.  “So,” he said, smiling at him a little, his eyes still a little wide, “what have we got?”

 

It ended up being a great date, actually.  One of the most fun Steve had ever had.  He’d been a little worried that their friendship wouldn’t really translate to stuff like this, that knowing each other so well would make this sort of thing awkward, but that didn’t happen at all.  Tony eventually seemed to relax a little, and the food was good—the fish was really fresh, and Steve thought it was wonderful.  He hoped Tony liked it, too.  He knew Tony had more sophisticated taste in food than he did.  He’d seemed a little nervous, or tired, but as the date went on that seemed to fade a little, and he brightened up, getting more talkative.  They talked about light, easy, not particularly important things, Steve telling Tony about his visit to SHIELD in detail, though he kept his voice low and left out names, and his day in the city.  Tony laughed and smiled and joked, but he seemed to search for topics a little, and a lot of times he’d look like he was about to say something and then fall silent to play with his glass, or look away.  For a while they talked about the monorail, and then Tony ended up teasing Steve about liking gadgets even more than he did (which wasn’t true—Steve was pretty sure that wasn’t possible).  Steve said he wondered what Seattle had been like when he’d been born.  Tony grinned and said it probably wasn’t the silicon forest back then, and they talked about the World’s Fair.  Tony had always been a good conversationalist, and it was nice—nice just to talk to him, look at him and see him smile back, watch him eating, even.  Steve had a good time, and when he asked if it had been good on the way back, Tony nodded, gave him a sideways look, and then said, “Yeah, it was great.  It’s been great . . . spending time with you again,” and Steve grinned.

 

“Yeah,” he said, curling his arm around Tony’s shoulders and squeezing, still smiling.  “You too.”  It had been a good first date, he thought—not too much, a lot like eating dinner out, just the two of them, had always been, friendly and warm and fun and natural, but still good.  Tony still seemed a little tense, had the entire time, but then, he was wound up, and Steve was nervous too.  Steve squeezed his shoulders a little more, then let go.

 

He remembered the way back, so it wasn’t quite as much of an operation this time, and then they were there.  “Mind if I come in?” he said teasingly at the door, and Tony gave him a baffled look, then sort of grinned and shook his head, looking away, and gestured inside, locking the door again behind them once they were inside.  They both scanned the apartment this time, and came up with nothing, Steve letting Tony know he’d done it earlier, and then Tony poured himself a glass of water and drank it.  “I could get you one, if you want,” he offered, but Steve shook his head.

 

Tony set the glass down.  “I thought I’d take a shower,” he said, looking at Steve, his eyes dark, and Steve nodded, figuring Tony might just want to go to bed—it was late, and who knew how hard his day had been.  “Want to join me?” Tony added, tilting his head to look up at him from just under his eyelashes again.

 

Steve swallowed.  Maybe not.  Right.  Well, that . . . that sounded good.  “Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.  “Of course, if that’s . . . all right with you.”

 

“More than all right,” Tony said with a grin, the sort of warm, knowing grin that suggested something sexual, and reached for the top button of his own shirt.

 

Tony’s shower was big, Steve had noticed that before, but it hadn’t quite occurred to him how handy that would be for this kind of thing.  Once they were both under the spray it felt amazingly intimate, almost like nothing else in the world existed, though Steve knew that wasn’t true.  Tony leaned into him, his hands on his shoulders, and Steve’s fingers sank into Tony’s wet hair, his thumbs sliding along his jaw, against his cheekbones, as he kissed him, Tony’s mouth damp and welcoming and hotter than the water streaming down over them.  His hands moved down to Steve’s sides as he leaned into the kiss, tongue curling against Steve’s; his body slid against Steve’s, slick and hot.  Steve pushed him back against the wall and he went willingly, eager and warm and inviting and letting Steve box him in against the wall with his own body.  Steve slid one hand up to the top of his head, tangling in his wet hair, and Tony just leaned in, kissing him open-mouthed and hungry.  Steve tried to reach for the soap but found himself distracted by the way Tony’s hands were traveling over his chest and sides, rubbing and teasing, thumbing gently at his nipples.  He ended up just sliding the soap up and down Tony’s back, along his spine, instinctively moving his hand as they kissed, Tony rolling his hips against Steve’s in teasing, intoxicating circles, their cocks slipping together.  Steve gasped, and Tony skimmed his hands up over his chest to his shoulders, curled them around his neck.

 

Steve got distracted for another long moment, then remembered the soap in his hand and tried to remember to soap Tony up, wash him off.  Tony let him, between the kisses he pressed over Steve’s chest and shoulders, hot and open-mouthed, turning briefly to let him get his back, bracing his crossed arms on the wall and ducking his head against them, his feet set and spread apart in way that made it very hard to ignore the flex of his shoulders, their compact, muscled strength and the way the skin dimpled between them, not to mention the slope of his back, the dip of his spine and the curved muscles of his rear.  Steve leaned forward and pressed a kiss to one shoulder, trailing his lips down along the blade, over a few barely visible freckles that stood out against Tony’s clear olive skin.  Tony shivered a little, and Steve pressed closer, rubbing against him slightly as he slid the soap up over Tony’s stomach, over his chest, and Tony shifted his weight, giving Steve more friction, tilting his head back to kiss Steve’s chin, then his lips.  Eventually Steve left another kiss against his shoulder as he finished rinsing the soap off and Tony turned back around.  He took the soap from Steve before he had even realized and skimmed it over Steve’s chest, following it with his other hand to rinse the soap away, then his mouth, warm and softly scratchy with the wet drag of his facial hair against Steve’s skin.  Steve set his hands on Tony’s hips and pressed kisses along his shoulder, his neck, as Tony soaped him up, then slid the soap around to his back, leaning up to trail kisses of his own over his shoulder.

 

After a moment, he set the soap aside, slid his hands down over Steve’s back, over his rear, squeezing a little in a way that made Steve gasp and rock up onto the balls of his feet, just for a moment, as he moved down, and then he kept moving down until Tony was on his knees in front of him.  He looked up at him, just for a moment, then pressed his mouth against the curve of Steve’s hip before he moved it down to his cock, licked a stripe down the side, opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around it.  Steve gasped, let his hands fall to Tony’s hair, sliding through the wet, dripping strands.  Tony moved one hand up over Steve’s hip, against his stomach, the other curving around his hip, as he shifted closer, close enough that his hair brushed against Steve’s hip, clinging there with moisture as the wet heat of his mouth enveloped Steve’s cock.

 

He was so good at this Steve still couldn’t quite believe it, could only set his feet against the floor of the shower, resting a little against the glass wall.  He squeezed his eyes shut a moment.  Tony didn’t seem to mind the water streaming down over his face and shoulders, his mouth hot and soft on Steve’s cock as he licked and sucked.  Steve braced himself with one hand against the wall and curled his fingers in against Tony’s head, through his hair, feeling the give of the wet strands under his fingers, even as Tony swallowed him almost to the root, hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard.  Steve heard himself moan, his voice loud and breaking, without meaning to.  The heat of the water beating down around them, the warmth of Tony’s mouth on him, made him almost dizzy.  He was a little worried about Tony being able to breathe, but he didn’t seem to be straining, even as he panted wetly around Steve’s cock.  Tony had his eyes closed, and he moaned a little around Steve as Steve drew his head closer, tangling his fingers in his hair.  The vibration made pleasure spike through Steve’s belly, and he let his head tip back to rest against the wall, gasping.  Tony moaned again, pressed closer.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how much longer they stayed like that, but he was certain it wasn’t long.  Tony’s mouth felt amazing, so incredible, white-hot and intense, and the pleasure built and built in Steve, ratcheting up with dizzying speed, until he was coming almost before he even realized it, the pleasure cresting behind his eyes.  Tony didn’t even flinch before he swallowed, just pressed closer, if anything, his fingers digging into the back of Steve’s thighs, clenching tightly against him.  Tony moaned again, but it was different, more breathless and a little more high-pitched, and then he choked it off, swallowing around Steve’s cock again and again, almost spasmodically.  He kept his mouth on him, licking and sucking, for long moments afterward, until the tremors stopped shaking through Steve, and Tony pulled away, pressed his forehead against Steve’s hip, gasping.  He wiped his face with one hand, a little unsteadily, then ducked his head, kept panting against Steve’s skin, ducked his head in to press it against the skin of his thigh.

 

Steve pushed Tony’s hair, thickly tangled, back off his forehead, and tried to catch his breath.  It took him a few moments.  “Tony,” he finally managed.  His voice sounded hoarse.  “Wow.”  Tony smiled, Steve could feel it against his skin, and pressed a kiss against his thigh, then up, along his hip.  It took him another moment, but then Steve dropped his hand to his shoulder, rubbed a little.  “Do you want to let me . . .” he started with a smile, and gestured down towards Tony.

 

Tony shook his head.  He was still gasping a little, Steve noticed, still panting for breath.  He gave Steve a crooked grin.  “That’s not going to be necessary,” he said, and his voice sounded all breathless, rough and heavy.

 

“Huh?” Steve said, and frowned.  “Of course it is . . . Tony?”

 

Tony shook his head.  “I, uh,” he said, and gestured down at himself, and Steve realized that he’d just come, a few moments ago, anyway—his cock was softening, the water from the shower washing away his come from the tile.  Steve stared—Tony hadn’t even touched himself; both hands were still where they had been, one on Steve’s stomach, the other at his hip.

 

“You—” he said.  “I.  Really?”

 

Tony colored, going a warm red visible despite the flush already in his cheeks from the heat of the water.  “Um, apparently,” he said, looking down a little and shrugging one shoulder, just a bit.  “I’m sorry, it was just . . . I . . . well, I don’t really know, I . . . .”

 

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Steve said.  “Don’t, that’s . . .” he had to catch his breath, felt a wave of warmth wash through him at the thought of it, a combination of heat and a deeper, sweeter sort of glow.

 

“I know,” Tony said, biting his lip and looking down.  “It’s just . . .”

 

“Incredible,” Steve said.  “God, Tony, that’s so . . .” he was blushing now “. . . it’s really sexy.”  There really wasn’t any other word he could think of to describe it.  “You really came just from that?”

 

Tony leaned in, kissed his hip again, his stomach just above his cock, instead of answering.  Now Steve wished he’d been watching a little bit more closely, but then, considering what Tony had been doing to him, he probably wouldn’t have even been seeing straight even if he’d been looking.  He mourned that briefly, but it was hard to miss it too much with how good he felt.  “Get up here, mister,” Steve said, smiling, getting one hand on the back of his neck, tugging Tony upward.

 

Tony let him, putting one hand down to push himself up.  “Sorry,” he said again, brushing his lips against Steve’s shoulder as he stepped toward him, letting Steve pulled him in.

 

“Come on, Tony,” Steve said.  He put one hand on Tony’s jaw, leaned in to kiss him, though Tony turned his face away, tilted his chin down.  Steve let him, but kissed his forehead instead.  “Hey,” he said.  “It was beautiful.  Don’t apologize.  You’re amazing.  Don’t apologize for that.”  He tilted his head in, pressed a soft, gentle kiss against Tony’s lips.  “And I don’t mind kissing after,” he murmured against Tony’s mouth.

 

Tony smiled a little.  “Okay,” he said.  “Noted.”  He rested both hands on Steve’s sides and leaned into the kiss, keeping it sweet and soft, slow, for long moments before he pulled away.  Steve could taste come on his lips.  “Right,” he said.  “I guess we should get out of the shower.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “I don’t want to waste your water or anything.”

 

Tony smiled a little.  “I wasn’t really worried about that, but true enough,” he said, turning back to turn off the spray, then stepping out of the shower.  He handed Steve a towel, then picked one up of his own.

 

Steve had to admit he enjoyed watching him—even with the addition of the RT to his body and his current thinness, the drawn tight look of him, he was a sight for sore eyes, for sure.  He found his eyes lingering on his shoulders again, the flex of his muscles and the curve of his bottom.  Steve only managed to get himself out of the shower and start drying himself off when Tony turned back to look at him and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

 

“Not that I mind you ogling me,” Tony said, and Steve shook his head at him.

 

“Sorry,” he started, but Tony shook his head with a smile.

 

“Like I said,” he said.  “I don’t mind.  I might not have a lot to show off these days, but I’m always willing to put on a show for you, if you want one.”

 

“You have plenty,” Steve told him, and this time geared himself up and did pat his rear, lightly.  Tony jumped a little, then looked at him with his eyes a little wide, though he was grinning.

 

“Well, then, who am I to argue,” he said.  “Catch up to you in the bedroom?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said.  He went to retrieve a pair of boxers from his bag, then headed into Tony’s bedroom.  It looked awfully bare, Steve thought.  There weren’t even any pictures on the walls.

 

Tony showed up a moment later.  “Your turn,” he said, going to his closet, turning to talk to Steve over his shoulder, and Steve nodded, headed for the bathroom.  When he came back Tony was in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, writing something down on a notepad near the bed.  Steve was close enough to see it was a string of equations before Tony looked up, smiled at him, pushed him down on the bed and moved in to straddle him, kissing him and curling his arms around his neck.  Tony tasted like toothpaste and mouthwash now, and Steve kissed back, eagerly, but when the kiss progressed from hot and slow to Tony pushing him back against the bed, knees on either side of him, he caught him at his waist and pulled him away.  “C’mon,” he said.  “Let’s just sleep.”

 

Tony looked at him, that dark, unreadable look in his eyes again.  “Are you sure?” he said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  Tony needed sleep, as far as he was concerned—it was already late.  He kissed him lightly, smiled up at him.  “I’m tired.”

 

“No,” Tony said, his eyes still searching, somehow.  “You’re not.”

 

Steve sighed.  “Well, maybe not,” he allowed, “but _you’re_ tired, and I want to sleep.  Come on, Tony, just get into bed with me.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said after a moment, kissed him again, briefly, and slid off of him.  Steve smiled, pleased, and lay down on his side, and a moment later, Tony slid his arms around him, pressed himself up against his back, and he smiled even more, closed his eyes to settle into that.  Tony pressed a kiss against the back of his shoulder, pulling the blankets up around them.

 

“I thought I might leave tomorrow,” Steve said.  He felt like he didn’t need the blanket, felt warm enough just from Tony’s arms around him.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  He moved a little closer, curled his arm around him, laid his lips against the back of Steve’s neck.  His beard tickled lightly against Steve’s skin and made him shiver pleasantly.  “Gotcha.”

 

“We could have breakfast together,” Steve suggested.  “Before I go.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said softly.  “That’d be nice.”

 

“Are you gonna come back to New York soon?” Steve asked.

 

“Well,” Tony said.  “It kind of depends, I guess.  On how much work I get done, and if anything comes up in the next few days . . .”

 

“Mmhm,” Steve said.  He traced his thumb over Tony’s wrist.  “I understand.”  He wished Tony worked less, that they could spend more time together, but he knew all about having to work.  He sighed.

 

“I can try to cut it short, though,” Tony offered, but his voice sounded a little tense, like he was already trying to figure out how to make that happen without compromising anything he needed to do too badly.

 

“If you need to work, you need to work,” Steve said.  The last thing he wanted was to stress Tony out more.  “Don't worry about it.”  He ducked his head, pressed his lips to Tony’s knuckles.

 

“I can still see what I can do,” Tony said.  His hand shifted a little in Steve’s, then he turned it slightly, pressed it flat against Steve’s chest, moved a little closer into his back.  It was strange to feel the flat surface of the RT against his back, tingling slightly against his skin, but Steve thought he liked it.  It was like a marker of Tony’s presence, above and beyond the warmth of his body, a reminder that Tony was alive and well.

 

“I’d like that,” Steve said.

 

“Okay,” Tony said, and left another kiss on Steve’s neck, right beneath his hairline.  He turned his head, rested his cheek against the back of Steve’s neck.

 

“Just don’t make things harder for yourself on my account,” Steve said, as sternly as he could manage when he felt this relaxed.  “You hear me?”

 

He could feel one side of Tony’s mouth quirk against his skin.  “Nah,” he said.  “I won’t.”

 

“Good,” Steve told him.

 

Tony smiled a little more, stroked Steve’s chest a little with his thumb, before he left another kiss against the back of Steve’s shoulder.  “Good night,” he murmured.

 

“Good night,” Steve replied.  Tony curled his arms around him a little more, his breath warm and damp against the dip of Steve’s neck, against his shoulders, and lying there like that, it didn’t take long before he fell asleep.

 

He was in a desert somewhere.  It was hot, and Steve was sweating.  He didn’t know where he was.  He looked around, and saw something dark in the distance, through the shimmering haze of heat.  He started toward it, moving slowly as the sand shifted and slid under his feet.  His shield was on his back, heavy in the dry air.

 

It took a long time.  He kept walking, kept marching, but it was like every time he got close, the distance changed.  Eventually he started running, even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea—that in these kinds of conditions a march would get him further than a run.

 

And then he was tackling him, the figure in he’d seen from far out; they rolled over and over in the sand, tangled up with each other.  Tony’s head slammed back into the sliding dunes, and Steve was on top of him, his knees on either side of his chest, his shield on his arm as he hiked it back.  Tony was bleeding, his eye swollen badly, the helmet battered and cracked.  He coughed a little as Steve straddled him, and his eyes looked blank.  He stared up at him.

 

“What did you think you were doing?” Steve demanded.

 

Tony just blinked at him.

 

“Explain,” Steve roared, fury at his silence welling up, overtaking him in a dreamlike wave he didn’t quite understand, just that he was suddenly so angry, “you owe me an explanation, after everything!”

 

“I can’t,” Tony said.

 

“You can,” Steve told him.  “You just won’t.”

 

Tony shook his head.  “I can’t,” he said again.

 

“I have to know,” Steve told him, and heard his voice break halfway through.

 

“I know I’d do it all again,” Tony said.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve said.  It was more of a growl than anything, low and furious.

 

Tony just shrugged, still staring up at him.  As Steve watched, his eyes went dull, lost focus, sliding past him.  “Tony!” Steve demanded.  “ _Tony_!”

 

“Steve?” Tony said blankly.  “Is that you?”

 

Steve slammed his shield down.  He winced back, terrified of what he’d just done, and then he saw that he’d slammed into the sand beside Tony’s head, and he dropped his head to his chest, against the armor, gunmetal gray under his cheek now, shaking.  “Tony,” he whispered.  “No.  Talk to me.  Talk to me.  Tell me.  Talk to me.”

 

There was no answer.  Steve raised his head after a moment, and Tony didn’t respond.  “ _Tony_ ,” Steve said.  He put both hands on his shoulders, shook him.  Tony didn’t respond, just staring blankly over his head.  He was breathing, and when Steve fumbled for his pulse, his heart was beating, but he didn’t react, didn’t even move to push Steve away as he shook him roughly.

 

“No,” Steve said, brokenly, it was almost a sob, he could feel the thickness in his throat. “No, Tony, no, I never wanted this, come back, come back.”

 

There was still no answer.  “Tony, please,” Steve said.  “Look at me.  Tony—”

 

Steve woke up.  He blinked, gasping, felt wetness in his eyes and rubbed them against his shoulder.  He couldn’t seem to get in a deep breath, and there was a lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow.  For a moment he didn’t know where he was, and then he felt the warmth of arms around him, the face against his shoulder and the solid presence of a body against his back.  The softness of a beard, the damp warmth of breath.

 

Tony.  Tony’s room.  Tony’s apartment.  Seattle.

 

Steve knew it, knew it was him, knew he was safe, that they both were, but that didn’t help ease the tight, clawing feeling in his stomach, the desperate feeling that he’d been too late, that he had to do something.  It was a feeling that had been hard for him to shake, ever since he’d come back—that he should be doing more, that he had to fix things, that he was always running but always too late, just behind where he needed to be.

 

He rolled over.  Tony’s face was half-buried in the pillow, one arm still looped loosely around Steve’s waist.  Steve reached out, laid his hand softly against his jaw, brushing his thumb against his cheek, but barely touching him and Tony made a soft sound and shifted in his sleep.  Steve skimmed his hand down, until he could feel Tony’s pulse under his fingers, the steady thump of it, and blew his breath out, feeling his own pulse start to calm.  Tony was all right, he reminded himself.  They’d been talking just before he fell asleep.  He was fine, he was perfectly fine.  Everything was fine.

 

Except it wasn’t, really, fine—Steve could see the cool blue glow of the RT through Tony’s loose t-shirt and the sheet, the way it lit the planes of his face, threw his neck into shadow.  The device that was now running Tony’s nervous system, because he’d deleted his brain.  And Norman Osborn had beaten him to a pulp, and Tony was brain-damaged, Tony’s big brilliant genius mind battered and hurt, even if not the thinking parts of it—no, just the parts that made him _breathe_ , God, and Steve hadn’t been there to stop any of it.  And Tony had planned for that, had made a plan where that was his chosen endgame, and Steve didn’t even know if he’d have stopped it if he’d been there.

 

He swallowed, and it hurt.  He wanted to think he would have.  Would never have allowed things to get this bad, but—he’d almost killed Tony the last time he’d seen him.  How could he know that for sure?  Who knew what he might have done?  What if he’d just left Tony on his own—let Osborn do that to him, let him be pushed into a corner to protect the rest of them?

 

He took a deep breath, forced it to steady, himself to steady.  He wasn’t about to wake Tony up just to make himself feel better.  He pushed himself up, making himself continue to breathe evenly, though he left a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

 

He’d had nightmares fairly regularly since . . . since he’d come back, but that had been the first one like that.  Tony’s dull eyes, staring up at him . . . .  Steve ground the heels of his hands into his own eyes, took another breath.  Most of the others were . . . were the fractured events he’d relieved when the Skull had trapped him in his own past.  Bucky’s death.  Sometimes finding out he wasn’t dead.  How badly he’d failed him.  He’d had some others about Tony, before, but this had been the first one like . . . like that.  He braced his head on his hands and just sat there for a while, trying to calm himself.

 

Seeing Tony like that—still and broken and not waking up, even though he’d said he would if they followed his directions, just lying there, like he’d never wake up, like he’d never be _him_ again—

 

Steve needed not to think about that.  That wasn’t going to help.

 

He sighed after a while, took another breath, still trying to make it even, then lay back down, on his side facing Tony this time.  He curled his arm around Tony’s waist and tilted their foreheads together, then closed his eyes, trying to put the dream out of his head.  Tony was warm and solid under his arm, and after a moment shifted forward in his sleep, closer to Steve, without waking up.

  
Steve sighed, stroked Tony’s back slowly, softly, trying not to wake him, and attempted to go back to sleep.

 

Having Tony right there helped.  He concentrated on that, on how warm Tony felt, how relaxed, the sturdy, living, breathing presence of him under his arm.  That was something he wanted to dwell on, to remember, Tony in bed with him, trusting, asleep and relaxed.  He curled his arm a little closer around his waist, trying not to clutch him too close, just feeling him there, and breathed evenly, in slow, purposefully regimented breaths.

 

\-----

 

Steve being there in Seattle with him had been . . . well, it had been nice.  So was the breakfast they had that morning.  Steve was just as warm and friendly and affectionate as he’d been the rest of the time, and to be honest, they ended up making out over the sink for a while.  Kind of a long while.  Tony realized sometime around the time his fingers were sliding under Steve’s shirt to rest against the skin of his back, Steve’s tongue in his mouth, that he really didn’t want him to leave. 

 

It had been so good to have him there.  Pepper and the others had even started remarking on it, that Tony seemed full of energy.  Tony knew it was all just for sex, but it was still . . . still nice.  It was so good to be friends with Steve again.

 

He wasn’t going to argue to keep him here, though, so he just kissed him more intently, holding him tight, until Steve pulled away.

 

He didn’t seem like he was in any more of a hurry than Tony was, though.  He lingered for a while, exchanging softer, slower kisses and nursing a cup of coffee, until Tony finally brought himself to say that he really did need to go in to work, and Steve sighed a little, but nodded and smiled, finishing the coffee in a gulp.  “Be in touch,” Steve said.  “You hear me, Avenger?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, smiling a little.  “I hear you.  Sure thing.  I will be.  Now get out of here, honey.”

 

Steve smiled at him, a little wry, then nodded, turned to go with one last little wave.  “Take care,” he said.

 

Tony sighed as soon as the door was closed behind him.  He needed to stop pining, he told himself.  He had something with Steve.  It didn’t matter if he was in love with him.  He braced his hands on the counter and took a deep breath. He needed to remember that he was lucky.  It was hard, though.  Steve was so . . . wonderful.  Adorable. Sweet, earnest, affectionate, and so warm with him, and it was so hard to remember—what this really was.  What Tony’s role in this relationship was all about.  But that wasn’t Steve’s fault, it was Tony’s problem.  If he hadn’t been so invested already, he wouldn’t have cared so much.  This would have been fun—not that it wasn’t fun, but . . . he sighed again, ran his hands back into his hair.

 

It was his problem.  He needed to get into Resilient, anyway.  He didn’t have time to waste having a meltdown about Steve. Another one.

 

Tony had spent so long, well, kissing Steve that he was a little late into work, anyway, and he buried himself in it right away, both to make up for it and so he didn’t dwell on Steve leaving and his missing him or anything embarrassing like that, or on how he felt for him and how badly he wanted to have the right to call him and talk to him like a boyfriend, not a friend, ask about his schedule, take him out to dinner (maybe buy him something nice, if he could spare the expense).  It was better to lose himself in code and engine parts and the back and forth with the others at Resilient, orders and arguments and snarking all at the same time.  Hours passed before he even realized it, they were making plenty of progress, he only thought of Steve a few times more than normal, so all in all Tony was feeling pretty good about the day.

 

It was later on that day, and Pepper was supposed to bring him an update on the new sales numbers.  She did, sure enough, but after they’d gone through them, she closed the door and said, “Tony.”

 

He looked up at her warily, a little alarmed, suddenly feeling vaguely cornered.  That tone of voice never meant an easy conversation was coming.

 

“Can you put the pieces of the engine down for a minute?” she asked.

 

Tony did, a little reluctantly, wiping his hands.  “Sure,” he said.  Might as well face the music, after all.  He tried to brazen it out.  “What’s up?”

 

“I was just about to ask you that,” she said.

 

“Um,” Tony said.  He looked down.  Normally he’d have refused to, tried to keep eye contact, but this was Pepper.  That was no good—if he made eye contact, she’d see right through him for sure.  “Why’s that?”

 

She propped her hip against the table and just looked at him.  Her eyes weren’t harsh, but there was something piercing in them all the same, and he found himself swallowing, his mouth dry.  “I suppose you have no idea why you’ve been acting differently lately?” she said.  Her tone was wry.  She clearly wasn’t about to be put off.

 

“Acting differently?” Tony asked with a grin, still trying to bluster his way through.  “Well, I can think of a pretty good reason for that, Pep, remember the whole thing where I deleted my brain?”  That wasn’t what she meant, of course, and he knew he had been acting differently since the thing with Steve, but he thought the point was still a pretty valid one.

 

She glared at him.  “Not funny,” she said.  “You can stop trying to make me mad at you, because you’re not going to dodge the question that way.”

 

“Is that what I was doing,” Tony muttered.

 

“Yes,” Pepper said without hesitation, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Don’t you think I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell?”

 

Tony gave her a grin that felt a little weak even to him.  “Probably,” he admitted.

 

“So,” Pepper said, a little more softly.  Her eyes still had that soft but searching look to them, the one that made Tony feel naked and off-balance and caught out.  “What’s going on?”

 

Tony hesitated.  He just really wasn’t sure what to say.  “Well, I guess there’s the Avengers,” he finally said, trying to sound like he didn’t know what she was talking about but was trying to offer a plausible explanation.  “Stuff’s been busy with the team, and . . .”

 

“Tony,” Pepper said, “really?”  She was raising her eyebrows at him.

 

“What?” he said.

 

“Tell me the truth,” she said.

 

“That is the truth,” he said.  “Stuff has been busy.”

 

“And you’re here right now, and everything’s coming along fine, and you’re still acting . . . weird,” she said.

 

“So how?” Tony asked.  “How am I acting weird?  You tell me.”  He was a little curious about what she was noticing, anyway.  He didn’t want Steve to notice whatever Pepper was picking up on, after all.  That . . . would probably not be great.  The last thing he wanted was to bother Steve with his shit somehow.

 

Pepper sighed, but seemed to think.  “The last two nights you went home at a decent hour, for one thing,” she said.  “You didn’t even get takeout and eat here.  And you’re full of energy, kind of . . . focused, but if any of the rest of us talk to you while you’re working it’s like we’re not even there. You’ve been moody, too?  You’re sort of all over the place.  A lot more than normal.”  She shrugged.  “I can tell your mind is somewhere else.”

 

“The work isn’t suffering,” Tony said, frowning at that description.  Was he really that off his game?  He was letting it show that much?  “So it’s not like it’s a big deal, right?”

 

Pepper shook her head at him.  “Of course the work isn’t,” she said, “this kind of stuff isn’t hard for you, anyway, and like I said, it’s not that you’re not focused on it.  But something’s up.  I can tell.”

 

Tony sighed and sat down on the table.  “Maybe,” he said, feeling vaguely guilty now.  “ . . . look.  It’s something kind of weird, and I still don’t quite know what to think myself, and I don’t . . .”  He ran a hand back through his hair, looked away.  “I don’t know if it’s something you want to talk to me about,” he finally managed.  Pepper and he had a . . . they’d always had a, a thing, Tony wasn’t quite sure what to call it these days, after everything, and he’d always really wanted to . . . even though . . . but she’d turned him down, so she couldn’t get upset about Steve, right?

 

Just thinking that made him feel a little disloyal.  He crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes.  He got why she’d turned him down.  He got why anyone would have turned him down.  And it wasn’t like he’d stopped feeling how he felt about her.  But it wasn’t like he’d ever stopped feeling how he felt about Steve, either.

 

Maybe he was just really shitty at this whole thing.  Well, he was.  But maybe he was in more ways than he’d always thought.  He couldn’t even get it right.  Couldn’t even concentrate on one person at a time.

 

“You’re dating?” Pepper said, and he gave her a look for the surprise in her voice.

 

“I date,” he said.

 

“You sleep around when you’re not in a relationship,” Pepper said.  “That’s . . . that’s fine, but I wouldn’t call it dating, Tony.”

 

Ow.  He had to swallow at that.  It was true.  Pepper would know, after all.  And that . . . it was what he was doing now, wasn’t it?  He wasn’t in a real relationship, he was . . . well, yeah, sleeping around.  It was just with one person, but it was still just sleeping around.  No matter how much he wanted it to be something else.  No matter how sweet Steve was to him, or how warm, or how much Tony valued their friendship, there was no need to pretty it up.  And that was perfectly fine, of course, if that was what Steve wanted, but that was what it was.  “Yeah,” he said, and he couldn’t seem to help how tight his voice sounded.  But he couldn’t help it, it stung, so much more deeply than he’d expected, and the sarcasm seeped into his words before he could bite it back.  “I guess not.  It’s not like I take them out to dinner or anything.”  His mind went back to Steve in the restaurant the night before, and his chest hurt.  He had to swallow hard, gulping.  That didn’t count as a date, though—did it?  It had just been dinner with a friend, the same as always.

 

“Tony . . .” Pepper sighed.  “That’s not what I meant.  You know that.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said.  “I know that.”  He hadn’t meant that to sound as sarcastic as it did.  He was falling apart, and worse, he was taking it out on Pepper.  Damn it, what was wrong with him?

 

Pepper took a deep breath.  “Okay,” she said.  “But are you?  Dating someone?”

 

“No,” Tony said.  “I guess I’m not.”

 

“You guess?” Pepper said.  She stepped around the table, tried to get a look at him.  “Tony?  What do you mean?”

 

“I mean I’m sleeping around,” Tony said, and he couldn’t quite help how bitter and well, morose he sounded.

 

Ugh, he needed to get a hold of himself.  He was being moronic, and now he was being a jerk to Pepper, too.  Great.  Very classy.  On top of everything, and how much he’d asked of her, and whatever awful things he’d done to her before the mindwipe.  Who even knew why she stuck around him, but he was so damn grateful to her for doing it.

 

At least he hadn’t lost that, whatever else he’d ruined for her, ruined between them.

 

Pepper looked at him strangely.  “We both know that’s not all of it,” she said.

 

“Do we know that?” Tony asked, suddenly feeling tired.  That was the whole problem, after all, wasn’t it?

 

“You sleep around all the time without acting like this,” Pepper said.  “So it has to be more than that.”  She tilted her head a bit, looked at him consideringly.  “Who are you sleeping with?”

 

Tony looked away, at the wall.  A moment passed.  He sighed.  He wasn’t going to lie to her.  Not after everything.  He owed her the truth, at least.  It was just . . . it was hard to say it.  Hell, it was hard to believe it, let alone say it, but it was hard to say it after all of that, too, for . . . other reasons.  “Steve,” he said.  He felt his shoulders slump.

 

There, it was out.  He’d said it out loud.  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to have happen, but nothing did, except that Pepper’s eyes widened hugely.

 

“What?” Pepper said.  Her voice climbed about an octave.  “Steve—you mean Steve Rogers?  Captain America?  That Steve?”

 

“He’s not Captain America right now,” Tony said, giving her a wry, rather apologetic smile.  He felt apologetic, anyway, though for what, he wasn’t entirely sure.  Too many possibilities to choose from, he figured. 

 

God, sleeping with Steve?  What was he even thinking?  Pepper was right, he’d always been . . . he’d always slept around, and now he was doing it with Steve?  He’d always valued their friendship so much, and now he was going to risk it for sex? 

 

But Steve had wanted it, he told himself.  He was only doing this because Steve had wanted it; he would never have suggested it otherwise, never done anything like this on his own.

 

“Oh, my God,” Pepper said.  “Oh, my God, Tony, are you serious?”

 

“It doesn’t exactly have the hallmarks of a hilarious practical joke,” Tony said.

 

Pepper glared at him.  “No,” she said.  “It really doesn’t.  But you said—you’re not . . .” her voice dropped a bit, almost to a whisper, “you’re _not_ , um, you’re not dating him?”

 

“Pep,” Tony sighed, “why would Steve Rogers be dating me, of all people?  You probably know better than anyone why that would be a terrible idea.”

 

Pepper stared at him.  “Oh, God,” she said.  She sounded pained, now, upset.  Her voice softened horribly.  Tony felt his skin prickle, crawling with humiliated awareness of that softness, that gentleness, in her tone, and how horrifyingly close it was to pity.  “Tony . . .” she said.  “I’d . . . but you, you know how you . . . God.”  Her voice sharpened, picking up a little more heat.  “He didn’t tell you that . . . or . . . he didn’t say anything like that to you, did he?”

 

“No, no,” Tony said quickly, trying his best to smile.  “Of course he didn’t.  Come on.  Steve is way too good a person to rub it in my face like that.  We don’t discuss that part, really.”  We just . . .” he realized a little too late that describing having sex with Steve to Pepper wasn’t the most tactful thing in the world, and stopped himself before he could say anything too direct.  “Well, you get the picture.”

 

“How much _have_ you discussed?” Pepper asked.  Her brow was wrinkled, and her voice sharp.  She looked, and sounded, highly dubious.  About the whole thing.

 

Tony wanted to tell her that he didn’t have any idea what had possessed Steve to want sex with him, either, but that seemed a little too far out there, even for him, considering Pepper and him had always a thing, too, and well, flirted at least.

 

“Not a lot,” Tony said, instead, just answering the question.  “He made it clear what he wanted and . . . we just sort of went from there.”

 

Pepper just stared at him.  “Steve Rogers just came up to you one day and said he thought it would be great if you had a casual, no strings attached fling,” she said flatly.  “You.”

 

“Yeah?” Tony said, feeling defensive for some reason.  He knew it was hard to believe, but it stung, how shocked she sounded.  “Well, no, I mean, it wasn’t exactly like that, no.  He asked me about . . .”  He hadn’t wanted to relieve this particularly lovely little piece of humiliation, but he supposed he’d done it to himself, hadn’t he?  He’d gotten himself into this mess.  The whole thing.  And he figured he did owe Pepper that explanation, at least.  “An incident when I’d, uh, I kissed him.  Years ago.  Back when I was drinking.  And he said he wouldn’t mind if we did that again, minus the alcohol, so then I . . . we did.”

 

“He asked you about a kiss,” Pepper said, and sighed again.

 

“I was drunk!” Tony said.  And he’d known it had been a bad idea, even though he’d thought it was just a dream, even through the alcohol haze, even back then, but he’d gone and done it anyway, because he just . . . he’d just . . . he’d been right there, and there had been that twist of longing low in his gut and . . . it had been years ago, he’d been stupid, sure, but it wasn’t like he’d just gone around kissing Steve at random.

 

“And then you had sex,” Pepper said, apparently just rolling right along.  “Tony . . . I just . . . look, was the sex your idea, or his?”

 

“Steve enjoyed it,” Tony said, stung, not wanting to examine how deeply that accusation hurt.  “I didn’t take advantage of him, Pepper.  I wouldn’t.  He wanted it.  He said as much.”

 

“That . . . that wasn’t what I was thinking at all,” Pepper said.

 

Uh.  “What?” Tony asked, confused now.

 

Pepper shook her head.  “You know, if I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you were being like this on purpose,” she said.  Tony scowled at her, but she just shrugged.  “But I know you well enough that I know you’re not.  Whatever that says about me.  I don’t think you’d take advantage of Steve, no.”  She looked at him more sharply, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.  “I think _you_ might be being taken advantage of, though.”

 

“Come on,” Tony said, a little angry on Steve’s behalf now.  “That’s absolutely ridiculous.  It’s Steve.  _Steve._   I don’t think he’s even capable of taking advantage.  And I’m pretty far past the age where you need to be worried about that kind of thing, you know that, right?  I know exactly what I’m doing.”

 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Pepper said.  “It never occurred to you, genius, that he might just have wanted to kiss you?”

 

“He did kiss me!” Tony said.  He would have thought that would be obvious, considering what he’d said they’d been doing.  He gave a wry laugh.  “There’s been plenty of kissing, Pepper.  Trust me.”

 

“Tony,” Pepper said.  “Does Steve know you’re in love with him?”

 

Tony accidentally knocked one of the pieces of the engine off the table.  For a second his chest felt tight, almost hurt, a sudden sharp pain like his heart had stopped, seized up (and he knew better than most exactly what that felt like).  The room swam, just for a second, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut, drag in a breath, and then open them again.  “Shit,” he said.  He got up, picked the engine piece up, put it back down on the table.  Stared down at it.

 

“Does he have any idea?” Pepper asked, moving forward, following him a little, and then subsiding, moving back, like she was a little afraid to touch him, or maybe to hover and risk his wrath, which made Tony swallow hard, feeling guilty.

 

“I don’t even know where you got that idea,” Tony said shakily, but he knew how weak that sounded.

 

“Oh, come on,” Pepper said.  “I’ve known you for years, and I’m supposed to have missed it?”

 

“I wasn’t lying about my feelings for you,” Tony said, feeling defensive again, a little desperate, a little frantic.

 

“I didn’t think you were,” Pepper said, looking down at the table herself, turning away for a moment.  She fiddled a little with the pieces of the engine herself, took a deep breath.  “That’s not what I’m saying.  It’s . . . it’s possible to love two people at once, Tony.  I should know.”  She took a deep breath and turned back around, putting her back to the table.  “Anyway,” she said, determinedly.  “That’s not what I meant to imply.  I’m not upset about it, it’s something I’ve known about you for a long time.”

 

“That I’m in love with Steve,” Tony said, trying to make it sound ridiculous.  It was kind of ridiculous, after all.  He’d known all along that Steve was way out of his league.  What would Steve ever see in him?  What was there to interest someone like Steve in Tony Stark?  It was enough of a miracle that Steve valued his friendship.  Tony always knew he’d been dreaming to feel the way he did about him.  Stupid, over-reaching.  Wanting too much.

 

It was ridiculous to think Steve would ever reciprocate that.  Even what they _were_ doing seemed ludicrous even to Tony, why wouldn’t it look that way to anyone else?

 

“Yes,” Pepper said, not looking away.  “Exactly.  So does he know?”

 

“Am I this transparent to everyone, do you think, or is it a special skill?” Tony demanded.  His throat felt thick.

 

Pepper rolled her eyes.  “No, of course not.  I just know you better than most people,” she said.  “As we established already.  And you can stop trying to dodge the question, though I guess that’s already sort of an answer.”

 

“I damn sure hope he doesn’t know,” Tony said, not sure if he was angry, or upset, or what, even, he was feeling.  He knew whatever it was it was a little overwhelming, and made him feel hot in the face, and his chest tight, his stomach twisted.

 

Pepper sighed.  “Tony,” she said.  “You don’t think that’s relevant information if you’re sleeping with him?”

 

“No,” Tony said, frantically, as firmly as he could make it sound.  “It isn’t.  He—he doesn’t need to know anything about . . . my feelings for him, or that kind of thing.  It would just make things more complicated.”  He swallowed, took a deep breath.  Tried not to think about what he’d just said.  Or about loving Steve.  Or about Steve finding out.  Or any of it.

 

“Why are you doing this, though?” Pepper asked.  She sounded like she was trying to be reasonable.  “Isn’t it because you’re in love with him?”

 

Tony shrugged.  “You don’t think anyone would jump at the chance to have sex with Steve Rogers?” he asked.  He gave her his best leer.  “Why do you think I’m sleeping with him?  If you know me you know I’ve wanted a chance at that ass for years.”

 

“Well, I think that it’s because you’re in love with him,” Pepper said waspishly, “but I don’t know, you tell me.”

 

Tony sat down heavily in the nearby chair and put his head in his hands, feeling like a liar already for what he’d just said, and disgusting with it.  “I don’t know, Pep,” he said.  He obviously couldn’t keep this up, but he didn’t know what else to say.  He was at the end of his rope here.  “I don’t know.  I just . . .” he had to swallow.  “I just want him to be happy,” he murmured.  “I guess that’s it.”  He closed his eyes.  “That sounds stupid.  And . . . childish.  It’s all so stupid.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what I’m doing here, is that what you want me to say?”  He laughed a little, wryly.  “Because I don’t.”

 

Pepper’s hand came down to rest on his shoulder and rubbed slightly.  “What about you being happy?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Tony said, then shook his head.  “I just . . . I don’t know.  I’d rather try and . . . and do something for Steve than worry about something that’s probably a waste of everyone’s time.”

 

“So your happiness is a waste of everyone’s time, but Steve’s isn’t?” Pepper said, her voice sharp.

 

“That’s not what I said,” Tony pointed out.  “What is happiness, anyway?  It’s not a . . . what does that even mean?  I don’t want to . . . to make things worse by being selfish.  And this isn’t . . . it’s really fucking selfish, Pep.  I can’t even pretend it’s about Steve, not really.  I wanted to sleep with him.”  He sighed, looked down at his hands.  “So I did.  That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Pepper said.  “You’d know better than I would if this is selfish or not.  But is it that bad to want something in a relationship for yourself?  Things can’t be all one way, or what’s the point?”  She frowned; he could see it out of the corner of his eye.  “Being a little bit selfish isn’t a bad thing.”

 

Tony shrugged.  “It’s not that, it’s just that . . . well, you know me,” he said, looking up at her.  “I’ve never been able to hang onto anything . . . that good for very long, and a lot of people right now would say I probably don’t even deserve to be looking for it, not when I have so much else to do, and make up for.  Steve having something he wants, something . . . nice, something good, isn’t quite as . . . as elusive, or impossible.  It’s a goal.”  He gave her a forced smile, looked down at his hands.  “I always like having a goal.”

 

“So you’re going to give him the sex he wants and not ask for anything that you want?” Pepper asked, sounding pained again.

 

“Like I said,” Tony said, feeling harassed now, “it’s not exactly selfless, is it?  I wanted to have sex with him so I took my chance.  It’s about as self-interested as it gets.”  He got it, it kind of sucked, but he didn’t see why it was such a big thing.  It was his choice, after all.

 

“Except that you’re in love with him,” Pepper said.

 

“Well, we can’t have everything!” Tony said, and he hadn’t meant to yell, but it came out sounding way louder than he’d wanted to, because it wasn’t just Steve, he hadn’t gotten what he wanted with Pepper, either, which was fine, it was her choice, but he’d . . . well, yeah, he felt the way he felt about her, too, and now she was sitting there, telling him he was in love with Steve, and . . . it just felt like a little much, coming from her.  He dropped his head into his hands again.

 

“Well, if you’re going to be like that,” Pepper said stiffly, then sighed.  “Look, Tony, I just . . . wanted to know what was going on,” she said, “and I . . . think I have a pretty good idea now.  I’m just a little worried, that’s all.  Did you think about this?  How’s it going to turn out?  I just . . . don’t know.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Tony said, running his hands back over his face, into his hair, and forcing himself up.  He wasn’t going to hide anymore.  “Look,” he said.  “It’s . . . good of you to be concerned, and I get it.  I’m a mess.  I’m a hell of a mess.  But that’s not going to change anytime soon, and it’s kind of the general state of things anyway, so . . . can we just leave it alone?  If I have a complete emotional breakdown, you get to say I told you so.  Deal?  Agreed?”

 

Pepper didn’t look happy, and she frowned a little, her mouth pulling to one side, before she sighed and nodded.  “Okay,” she said.  She touched his hair a little, the top of his head, just briefly.  “But let’s try not to get to that point, all right?”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Tony said with as much energy as he could, getting back to his feet.

 

“Okay,” Pepper said, and smiled.  “Right.  And listen, Tony . . . “  He looked up at her, raised his eyebrows, and she gave him a more encouraging smile.  “Good luck,” she said.

 

That at least made him smile.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Thanks.”

 

He had a feeling he was going to need it.

 

\----

 

“So, man,” Rhodey said.  “Let’s talk.  What’s this I hear about you banging Captain America?”

 

“I am not and never have been and have no intention of having sex with Bucky Barnes,” Tony said.  He frowned at the comm as he pulled a piece of rebar free and tossed it over to Rhodey.

 

“C’mon, Tone,” Rhodey said, catching it easily in the War Machine armor’s gauntleted hand.  “You know what I meant.”

 

“You asked if I was sleeping with Captain America,” Tony said.  “I’m not.”

 

“Oookay,” Rhodey said.  “I guess we’re going to be evasive today, huh?”

 

“This place is really a mess,” Tony said with a sigh, surveying the ruined remains of FuturePharm.  “What do you think Hill would do if I sent her a bill for it?”

 

“Probably try to have you knocked off,” Rhodey said with a laugh.  “Don’t even, buddy.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Tony said.  “Still, SHIELD dollars, why not, right?  Cost-effective.”

 

“Except that it would have to go through your new boyfriend,” Rhodey said.  “Both the bill and the assassination order.  Awkward, much?”

 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Tony said.  “And you’re on a team with Commander Rogers, need I remind you, while I am not.  I’m on a team with Captain America.”

 

“This isn’t convincing me of anything except the fact that you’re being a twerp,” Rhodey said. "I hope you realize that."

 

“I didn’t know you still needed convincing of that,” Tony said, his grin hidden behind his faceplate.  “Do I need to step up my game?”

 

“It comes and goes,” Rhodey said.  “You being a twerp.  Apparently we’re in a high level phase.  About a point six on the Rhodes scale.”

 

“Is that the measurement?” Tony asked, still grinning.  “Is that because you’re a twerp, too?”

 

“No,” Rhodey said, “it’s because I’m an expert.  I’ve made a study.”

 

“When you publish the results, let me know what Reed Richards says about the depth of the subject pool,” Tony said.

 

“It’s ongoing,” Rhodey told him, tugging out more rubble himself.  “And specific in nature.  The subject is an outlier.  I don’t need more than one.”

 

“Is that so,” Tony said.  He turned the scanners on, looked further into the mess of the building.  “Maybe Sandhurst still has holdings I can sue for damages.”

 

“No way you’re getting a recovery from Sandhurst if you couldn’t get one from Osborn,” Rhodey said.

 

“I couldn’t from Osborn because the government confiscated everything,” Tony said thoughtfully.  “I don’t think that happened in this case.”

 

“Don't think I didn’t notice you changing the subject,” Rhodey said.  “By the way.”

 

“Is that what I’m doing?” Tony asked, still scanning the building.

 

“Sure is,” Rhodey said.  “You’ve been doing it a lot lately.”  He took a breath that Tony could hear through the comm., blew it out.  “Look,” he said, after a moment, the faceplate of the War Machine turning toward him, “you think I have a problem with you screwing Rogers?”

 

Tony sighed.  So much for that.  “I guess Pepper told you, huh?” he said.

 

“Did you think she wasn’t going to?” Rhodey asked.

 

“I guess not,” Tony said.  It was his turn to sigh.

 

“We’re not ganging up on you, man,” Rhodey said.  “We’re worried about you.”

 

“I know how to have sex,” Tony said.  “I don’t need the birds and the bees talk, flyboy.  We’re all good here.”

 

“We’re not worried about that, hotrod,” Rhodey said.  “We’re worried about who you’re having sex with.”

 

“I’m not going to hurt him, Rhodey,” Tony said, seriously.  “That’s the last thing I want.”

 

“Yeah, okay, that’s not what I meant,” Rhodey said.

 

“Then I don’t know what this talk is about,” Tony said, exasperated.  “You know he’s not going to hurt _me_.  He’s Steve.  So why are we even discussing this?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Rhodey said.  He sounded highly dubious.  “Do I know that?  Do I really know that, Tony?”

 

“You should,” Tony said.  He didn’t get why both Rhodey and Pepper were so hung up on this.  It was a little ridiculous, in his opinion.  It wasn’t like Steve was going to treat him unfairly.  That was pretty much the opposite of everything in him.  If anyone was going to screw things up, it was going to be Tony.

 

Tony probably already had.

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Rhodey said.

 

Tony sighed.  “If I start a relationship with Steve and get hurt by it, it’s my fault,” he said.  “Caveat emptor, right?”

 

“So if you hurt Steve it’s your fault, and if you get hurt by Steve it’s your fault, and nothing about that seems a little weird to you,” Rhodey said.

 

“Why should it?” Tony said, frowning again.  Rhodey was twisting it around to make it sound illogical.  “I’m the fuck-up here, not Steve.”

 

“Damn, you must think I’m an idiot,” Rhodey said, sounding exasperated.  “Or at least that I have lousy taste in friends.”

 

Tony sighed, loudly enough he knew Rhodey could hear it through the comm.  “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said.

 

“How else do you explain that you’re my friend, then, not Steve?” Rhodey demanded.

 

“Generosity?” Tony suggested, trying to joke.  “Besides, I thought you liked Steve.”

 

“I do,” Rhodey said, “I like him fine, but he’s not my main man, Tone.  You are.”  War Machine turned toward him, crossed his arms.  “You hear me?” he said, firmly.  A few seconds passed. “I’m waiting,” Rhodey added.

 

“I hear you,” Tony said, a moment later, after he managed to swallow past his tight throat.

 

“Good,” Rhodey said, and then went back to work.  A piece of rubble landed with possible more force than necessary in the pile he was making.  “I know you’ve been messed up for a long time,” he said after a few seconds, “but if this is some kind of self-destructive prove to yourself that Rogers hates you thing . . . .”

 

“It’s not,” Tony assured him. 

 

“Good, because I’m done watching that, after everything you pulled,” Rhodey said, with feeling.

 

Just as Tony was adding, after a second of thought, “There are plenty of other ways to do that.”

 

“Do you want me to punch you?” Rhodey demanded.

 

“If you feel like it,” Tony said.  “Take your best shot.”  Rhodey probably deserved a shot at him, anyway.  He was right, he’d put him through a lot, and Rhodey had been there through everything, faithful and at his side and sturdy and loyal and warm and not treating him any differently.  He could take all the shots he wanted at Tony after that.

 

“God,” Rhodey muttered.  “I _should_ punch you for that.”

 

Tony shrugged.  “Go for it,” he said, raising his hands and taking a step forward.

 

“No,” Rhodey said.  “We’re not going there.  Look, T.”   He sighed himself, put his hands on his hips, shaking his head.  Tony could hear the hiss of the armor as it moved and had a brief throwaway thought about doing a maintenance check for Rhodey later.  “It’s not about any of that stuff.  Steve is a good guy.  I get it.  You’ve had a crush on him most of your adult life.  Don’t say anything, I know, so just.  Save it.  But that’s the thing.  He is a great guy.  A guy who would be easy to fall in love with, you know what I’m saying?  I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself.  I’m not going to tell you how to deal with the guy; you know him a hell of a lot better than I do.  You’re Iron Man.  I get that.  You are.  But there’s still a squishy guy inside that armor, and he isn’t invincible.  You hear me?”

 

“Like I said,” Tony said.  “A fuck-up, right?”

 

“That is so incredibly not what I mean at all,” Rhodey said with a sigh.  “I just . . . I just want you to take care of yourself, tin man.  And if Rogers gets you hurt, I’m going to have to kick his ass, so do it for his sake, all right?”

 

“It’s not his fault, Rhodey,” Tony said with a sigh.  “Don’t blame him for any of this.”

 

“He’s a grown-ass man,” Rhodey said.  “I’m going to blame him if he fucks shit up.  Especially if it’s your shit he fucks up.  Look.  I’m just saying.  I’ve got your back, no matter what happens.  Okay?”

 

Tony smiled a little.  He couldn’t help it.  “Okay,” he said.

 

“You hear me on that?” Rhodey said.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said.

 

“Don't forget it,” Rhodey said, and he really, really sounded like he meant it.

 

“I won’t,” Tony said, softly.

 

\-----

 

It was nice to know Rhodey had his back.  And Pepper, too.  That whatever happened with Steve, he wouldn’t be alone.  It was stupid how much of him had been worried about that, he realized, but . . . it was Steve.  Everyone know that if things went bad between them, it would have been because of Tony’s screw-up, somehow, that was obvious.  It was good to know that his friends would stand by him anyway, even if he found some spectacular way to fuck this up, that they didn’t care how badly he screwed up, even with Steve.  He was Captain America, after all, Tony figured most people would side with him.  He really didn’t deserve friends as loyal as the ones he had—but he was so grateful to them, so grateful he couldn’t get over it.

 

It was a little strange, to be friends with Steve again.  Tony had known he missed it, but he hadn’t quite realized how much until he had it back.  He’d figured their friendship was too tentative to push, and that things would be easier if he just stayed away from Steve—then they wouldn’t fight, then Steve wouldn’t remember everything that made him so furious with Tony—but when Steve had made it clear he wanted sex with him, he’d also made it clear that he wanted Tony as a friend again, too, that he didn’t want him to pull away.  Tony was a little uncertain about the whole thing, afraid that being in Steve’s presence too much would just remind him that no, he didn’t like him much these days, but he couldn’t deny how good it would feel to have that again, to feel like Steve genuinely enjoyed his company.  So he figured that he might as well give it a shot.  They’d disagreed before, after all.  Maybe, if Steve did want him back as a friend, even after everything, they could still make this work.

 

And spending actual time with him again made him realize that avoiding Steve so that their relationship wasn’t affected had made it so they didn’t really have much of a relationship at all.  Certainly nothing like their old friendship, and he thought the one developing slowly between them now might be a lot like the one he’d thought they’d lost forever.  It certainly felt more similar than different.  They were back to discussing the team, back to spending time together in their off hours, even eating lunch together—Steve had taken to bringing Tony sandwiches while he was working in the Tower, eating his own while sitting with Tony in the workshop, and Tony had to admit it made it hard to bring himself to leave the Tower; the other labs he had to work in didn’t have the possibility of Steve coming down to see him as an attraction.  He had plenty to do, and he knew he couldn’t just hang around the Tower, but . . . it was nice, that was all.  It was nice to take a break and talk to Steve over a sandwich before he went back to work.

 

Steve was affectionate—he touched Tony more than ever, and Tony wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty over that, over how much he enjoyed it, or just appreciate it.  A hand on his shoulder, on his side, against his back, on the back of his neck, on his arm, little nudges or shoves, an arm around his shoulder or his waist.  He’d sit close to Tony, and during team movie night, which had apparently become a thing at some point again without Tony noticing, would sometimes sit at his feet on the floor, his shoulder against Tony’s knee, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.  Steve had done that for years, Tony thought, a little wonderingly, more interested in the back of Steve’s neck than the film at that particular moment, the film was some science fiction thing that was only interesting in terms of how much it got wrong.  Tony was pretty sure that Clint had chosen it to mess with him.  That wasn’t the point.  He remembered nights in the mansion when they’d done exactly this, and Steve often willingly left the sofa to the others and sat in the middle of all of them, on the floor.

 

He wondered if that was a thing, for Steve, or if he was just trying to be polite.  He’d always just thought it was because Steve took up a lot of space on the sofa, to be fair, but thinking about it again . . . .

 

He figured it was a thing.  After a little while, he reached down, rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder.  Steve grinned, he could see it, and looked back at him, rubbed his cheek a little against his hand, and then turned back to the movie.

 

Tony had to swallow hard, suddenly feeling very warm.

 

Okay, so it was probably a thing.  He let his fingers curve against Steve’s ear, brush his hair back behind it, stroke over the back of his head, sliding through his hair, and Steve shivered a little, in what Tony thought was a good way, so he laid his hand on the side of his neck and left it there, and Steve leaned into him a little more, against his leg.

 

It was nice having Steve around more, too, and Tony thought the others liked it just as much as he did.  The team hadn’t felt quite right without him, though Steve was careful not to step on Bucky’s toes.  It was good just to see them spending time together, in Tony’s opinion—after everything that had happened, and years of Steve talking about Bucky with grief and sad, wistful fondness, it was great to finally get to know him, but even better to see their friendship in action.  Bucky was a little awkward around Steve still, and God, Tony knew that feeling, but . . . it was still good.  He knew Steve was busy—but having him spend his free time with them at the Tower felt like old times again, and it was . . . it was good.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was easier this way, full of warm affection, friends but just . . . more, or harder, if it would be easier if they just found each other when they wanted sex and then went on their way.  That would be harder to live with, but this . . . Tony kept relaxing into it, and then reminding himself that he couldn’t afford to do that, couldn’t afford to slip and let on how much more he wanted.  And that made him feel more than a little guilty.

 

But then sometimes it wasn’t like they were sleeping together at all, like they were just friends again, like they’d been before, and he found himself smiling easily at Steve, or laughing at something he’d said while the others stared at him, or sharing a cup of coffee or a sandwich, and he felt the same warm, seizing feeling in his heart like he always had with Steve, and it was like nothing was any different.  They went out to the park one afternoon, walked there on a whim, mostly because Steve had suggested it, picked up some hamburgers on the way and ate them together, ended up talking about stuff that had nothing to do with the team, or anything that had happened lately, between them or anything else.  It was like something they might have done years ago.  It was . . . nice.

 

They were sparring together a lot more regularly, too, and Tony hadn’t realized how out of shape he’d let himself get until Steve had made up his mind to get him back up to speed again.  It was weird how much more hungry he felt, as a result, like his appetite had come back all of a sudden.  But that seemed to make Jarvis happy, at least, so Tony couldn’t complain.  Tony watched Steve spar with Bucky and Clint, and it felt pretty much the same as always, despite the presence of new team members.  It felt new, but still good—like home. 

 

Of course, sticking around to see Steve meant that Tony was around the Tower more, an inevitable side effect.  He thought the rest of the team would mind Tony’s presence in the Tower, with them, more regularly, having to see him, and be reminded of everything that had happened (everything he couldn’t remember), but most of them seemed to just leave it alone.  Jessica Drew mentioned it was nice to have him around these days, and it took him a moment to recapture enough self-possession to grin and wink at her as he thanked her for the comment.  It was surprising to realize how tense he’d been around the others when he stopped tensing up whenever any of them came into the room.  But it was easier now.  Still a little uncomfortable, but he felt like maybe he could start relaxing just a little.

 

Steve was still perfectly capable of knocking Tony flat on his ass no matter how hard Tony tried to keep up, or catch up, as he demonstrated plenty of times once they started sparring again, once hard enough that Tony landed on his back with a yelp he couldn’t quite keep back.  To his surprise, Steve was right there a moment later, asking if he was all right, both hands on his shoulders, helping him up, even though as soon as Tony had his breath back he assured Steve he was fine, and he’d had a lot worse than that over the years.  He ended up with a bruise where Steve had landed one on him, though, which he hid perfectly fine until Steve squeezed his shoulder after they were done, and that was that—Steve’s lips got all tight and his jaw tensed and he apologized again, touched it lightly, face dark, like he wanted to insist Tony get a CT scan or something, despite Tony’s insistence that it was all right.

 

“Believe me,” Tony told him, a little exasperated, “I’ve had a lot worse bruises than this lately.”

 

Steve’s frown just deepened even further.  “That’s all the more reason to be careful,” he said, and he sounded a little upset.  He squeezed the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony sighed and just let it go.

 

He figured Steve would have forgotten all about it, except that of course he chose that day to slide his hands up under Tony’s shirt after they’d both gotten out of the showers and start kissing the side of his neck, which turned into making out before Tony had the presence of mind to move the whole thing up to his bedroom.  So of course Tony ended up on his back at some point, and he was still sore enough to wince, and Steve got that tight look on his face again and made him roll over so that he could see how bad the bruising was, and it was really just a waste of everyone’s time.

 

It started being slightly less of a waste of everyone’s time when Steve’s lips brushed gently over the place where the bruising felt most sensitive, which Tony was sure was swollen and some flamboyant color by now.  Tony couldn’t help the way he shivered at that, the feeling shuddering all through him, and then Steve kissed the back of his neck and curled his arm back around Tony’s waist, and things started looking up a little.  Steve smoothed his hands down over Tony’s hips, along his thighs, kissing down the back of his neck, and Tony sighed, arched back into him, reached for the back of Steve’s neck to tug him closer, turning his head to touch their lips, to press slow, soft kisses up over Steve’s nose, along his forehead, up into his hair.  This was more like it.  Steve moved his hand up over Tony’s pelvis, over his stomach, avoiding his cock, and Tony shivered, spread his legs apart for him, only to feel Steve’s knee come up between them and nudge teasingly at his cock.  He gasped, groaned a little at the friction, the teasing pressure, and he felt Steve’s smile in the kisses he was still laying along his shoulders, up along his neck, wet but still somehow sweet and soft. Steve’s hands came up and started to pull down Tony’s loose exercise pants even as Tony gasped and left kisses in Steve’s hair.

 

They ended up having sex like that, spooned up together, Steve’s hand on Tony’s cock and Steve’s cock between Tony’s thighs, while Steve pressed kisses down Tony’s spine.  Steve was incredibly warm, big and strong and steady around him, and wrapped around Tony in a way that made him feel like he was folded up in all that radiant heat and muscle, the warm smoothness of Steve’s skin, the warmth of Steve’s big hand on his cock and the solid heat of Steve's own cock nudged up between his legs, the way it left his thighs all slick and wet with precome. Steve was so slippery with it that Tony didn’t bother asking if he wanted lube as he slid slick and hot between Tony’s thighs, big hands alternatively curling around his hips and curving over the muscles of Tony's legs. Steve’s hand came up to cup his cock and balls again, cupped lightly, rolled and squeezed, then began to stroke as he pressed himself closer into Tony’s back, mouth hot and needy-wet over the skin of his spine and shoulders.  Tony couldn’t help groaning, and it seemed Steve wasn’t far off, the way he was clutching at Tony's hip with his other hand, panting heavily against his back.  Steve lost track of Tony’s cock for a long while after that, his hand slowing until it finally was just cupping him loosely, and then just clutching at his hip like Steve needed that grip, needed more steadying, but Tony didn’t mind, it was enough to reach back and curl his hand around Steve’s neck and just feel it as Steve thrust between his thighs, pressing them tightly closed and groaning with every nudge of Steve’s big, heavy cock against his own balls, the wetness that smeared against him every time, even the way those nudges and tingles of hot heady pleasure were more of an accident of positioning and the heat behind Steve’s thrusts than anything.  There was something good about it, being caught up in Steve’s arms, warm and close and surrounded by him and pressed into the mattress and keeping his legs slippery and tight around Steve’s length, just in enjoying that much.  It was so warm, Steve so strong and solid around him, behind him, pressing him down into the bed.  With the kisses against his back and the back of his neck, pressed behind his ears and into his hair, and the slow, easy pace of it, the way Steve was holding him even while he thrust hard between his thighs, it felt like some of the warmest, most comforting sex Tony had ever had. Like he didn't even have to do anything to make Steve happy other than just to be there, and that was enough.

 

A big advantage of the position, Tony figured, was that Steve couldn’t see his face, because the way that made him feel, caught up and held close, Steve between his thighs, must have shown in his expression, he doubted he could have hidden anything from Steve like this.  He couldn’t stop gasping, breathy and heavy and loud, his free hand clutching in the sheet, and it wasn’t because it was physically demanding at all, it was because it was everything opposite, warmth and strength and Steve there at his back, and Steve didn’t even need him to do anything, he was panting into Tony’s back, clutching him tightly, dragging kisses wetly along his skin, his mouth loose and sloppy with desire as he panted harshly into his spine, and Tony had tried so hard to make things good for him, but it was like just at this moment Tony himself was enough, just being here, in his body for Steve and with Steve, not his mouth or his hands, just the two of them, and it was good and Tony could just lie here and have this, hold to it and be in these moments as they drew out long and warm and heady between them, and Steve was holding him up, practically, his hand still clasped around Steve’s neck, and it still felt perfectly secure, safe and stable.  Steve had him.  He knew that.

 

He was really glad Steve couldn’t see his face.

 

Steve cried out, soft and muffled against his skin, buried in Tony’s shoulder, when he came, and Tony just had the presence of mind to get his hand up and catch most of Steve's come in his palm, moaning himself at the sound of Steve behind him, his gasping, groaning breaths and the way he rubbed his cheek against the back of Tony’s shoulder as he shuddered and shook through his orgasm, the feel of Steve’s cock jerking between his thighs, the heat and wet of his climax, all of it.  Tony was left gasping, blinking against the pillow, hot and dazed and feeling heavy and dizzy just from that, even as Steve’s breaths started to ease and his shudders began to calm to nothing.

 

After a few moments, Steve pressed a soft, light kiss into Tony’s shoulder, simple and sweet, and then his hands came around, one smoothing over his hip, and Tony shivered, groaned, at the feeling, head spinning just at the touch. He was already feeling almost overwhelmed, so warm and dizzy with pleasure, and then Steve’s hand closed around his, the hand Tony had used to catch most of Steve’s come, and pulled it to Tony’s own cock, closing it around the hot hard need of Tony’s erection and folding his own hand over it, tugging Tony's hand down over himself in a wet, slow stroke so that Tony’s hand, damp with Steve’s come, smeared it all along his cock.  He hadn’t even moved his slowly softening length from between Tony’s thighs.  Tony couldn’t help it, he gave a harsh, rough whimper of pleasure, arched forward into Steve's touch and his own hand.  He wasn’t going to last, he knew that, he was already so dizzy and hot, feeling like he was reeling just at Steve’s clasp on his fingers, Steve’s steady, firm pulls of Tony’s own hand over his cock.  Steve pressed another soft kiss into Tony’s shoulder, slower, more firmly this time, another against the skin between Tony’s shoulder blades, then up, against the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, just under his hair, squeezing his hand around Tony’s hand, and so around his cock, as he did it.  Tony gave a hoarse, rough noise, almost a cry, and Steve might have said, “Shhh, easy,” but he might just have pressed another kiss into Tony’s neck, even closer and softer into his skin, it was hard to tell. 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he lasted like that, how many slow, even passes their linked hands made over his cock, tugging pleasure out of him, turning him even dizzier, lightheaded and breathless and almost faint, but then Steve turned his head, laid another soft kiss just behind Tony’s ear, and Tony came with a faint, helpless groan, trembling his way through a long, slow climax where everything seemed to fade out, light sparking and fuzzy at the edges of his vision in bright drifts across his eyes, and there was just Steve’s arms around him, the slow gentle stroking of his cock for a few more moments, a hand rubbing gently along his stomach, more gentle kisses pressed against his hair and along his neck, soft warm breath and skin against his nape, against his ear.

 

They stayed there like that for a long while, and Steve gave him time, a long time, to come down from it, come back to himself, catch his breath.  They laid there for a while, Tony curled back against Steve’s chest, Steve’s knee resting loose and lazy and undemanding between his thighs now, and Tony panted for air.  Steve was panting too, heavy breaths against his ear, stirring his hair, even as he reached up and stroked it back from Tony’s face, brushed strands of it off his forehead, and Tony’s breathing got hoarse and harsh and raspy for a moment at that before he managed to steady it again.  He took a few seconds to compose himself, and then a few more, while Steve was still lightly stroking his stomach, along his chest.  They stayed there, a long few minutes of slow, easy closeness, and Tony just felt it, not focusing in on anything in particular, just . . . there, before he rolled over, kissed Steve briefly, and got up to clean them up again.  His bruises sure didn’t hurt now.  When he came back to bed, though, Steve curled around his back again, nosed into his hair, laid one hand over his stomach, and Tony sighed and closed his eyes, debating holding his hand or not.  He fell asleep before he came to a decision.

 

He woke up later that night and blinked, confusedly, into the darkness of his room.  He wasn’t the soundest sleeper, usually, but every time he’d slept with Steve in his bed he’d slept more deeply than he had in months, and he didn’t remember dreaming of anything that might have woken him up.  And then Steve’s fingers shifted against his stomach, moving up and clenching into a fist, and he made another sound against Tony’s back, a distressed noise, low and barely audible.  His body jerked, his shoulders trembling, and Tony could feel the wet heat of his breath between his shoulders as Steve panted against him, his breaths quick and uneven.  He made another low breathy grunt of a noise, and clutched Tony closer, close enough that Tony felt a little like a rag doll the stuffing was being squeezed out of and gasped, wheezing.

 

Okay, that was apparently a drawback to all this.  Being squeezed like a stress ball.  Jesus.  But Tony had known Steve had nightmares—they’d both used to wander the mansion at night sometimes, unable to sleep, they’d had some of their first good conversations that way.  Steve had let slip more than a few times that sometimes it was easier for him to stay up because he didn’t need a lot of sleep, and he didn’t like his dreams most nights, and Tony had . . . more than understood that.

 

“Oof,” he muttered, got his hands down and pulled at Steve’s hold around his waist.  It didn’t come free easily, but eventually Tony got their fingers laced.  He obviously wasn’t going to be able to pry Steve off him if he didn’t want to be pried off, but rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles made his grip relax, so Tony kept doing that until Steve’s arms were lying more laxly around his waist.  Steve moaned a little and his head tossed back and forth, his cheek rubbing against the patch of skin between Tony’s shoulders, but his arms loosened anyway, and eventually Tony could turn around, get a look at his face.

 

 

He was obviously distressed, his eyes screwed up tight, his lips bitten to the point of raw redness and spots of blood.  Tony felt his chest pull tight, a little unhappy flip in his stomach as he wondered what Steve had nightmares about these days.  “Hey,” he whispered.  “Steve—sweetheart,” oops, damn it.  Tony swallowed.  “Steve, wake up,” he said, instead.  There was no response, Steve’s shoulders just tightened up, hunching inward, and he curled in on himself, his hands drawing up toward his chest in tight fists, almost like he was holding them away.  It reminded Tony of how Steve had looked in handcuffs in the pictures he’d seen, and he had to swallow hard.

 

“Hey,” he said, more loudly.  “Steve.  Wake up.”  He ran one hand over the smooth firm rounded muscle of Steve’s shoulder, down over his back, trying to be soothing.  He’d woken up so easily the other night, but now he refused to be roused—the dream must have really had its hooks into him.  “It’s just a dream.  Shhh.  Shhh.  It’s okay.”

 

Steve jerked under his hand, and his eyes flew open.  For a moment he just stared at Tony, his eyes wide and glassy and unseeing.  He looked stricken, somehow, like he had just seen a ghost, his breath coming in quick, hard pants.  “Hey,” Tony said again, as gently as he could.  He touched Steve’s face gently with the backs of his fingers.  “You okay?”

 

Steve made a desperately unhappy sounding noise, hoarse and muffled as he bit down on his bottom lip, and his face twisted up.  He took two heaving breaths, and then mumbled, “Tony?” sounding anxious, uncertain, even afraid.

 

Tony gave a rueful wince, not certain if his presence would help with those nightmares or not.  “Yeah,” he said, because there was nothing to say but the truth, was there?  “It’s me.”

 

Steve heaved out another breath, squeezed his eyes shut tight.  “Tony,” he said again, and his voice was wet, desperate, breathless.  He sounded lost, like he didn’t know what to ask for, and a little like he was about to cry.  Tony had no idea what to do. 

 

Recklessly, he laid down a little more and scooted closer, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder so he could wrap both arms around him, holding him close, hoping that this wasn’t exactly the _wrong_ thing to do, hoping it wouldn’t only trigger Steve’s distress more intensely.

 

Steve gasped, and then his arms went around Tony in return, pulling him even closer, clutching him tightly.  Okay.  Okay, that had been a good call, then.  Tony murmured soothingly into Steve’s hair, running his hand over the back of his neck, down his back.  “Shh,” he whispered again.  “It’s all right.  Everything’s fine.  You’re in the Tower.  Everything’s good.  You’re fine.”  Steve pressed his face tightly against Tony’s neck, still gasping for air, and stayed silent, his fingers curled in tight against Tony’s back.  They stayed like that for a few moments, Steve’s fingers curling even tighter into his skin, before Tony could feel Steve’s heartbeat start to calm and pulled back a little, running his hand down Steve’s chest as he loosened his arms from around him.  “You okay?” he asked, peering carefully into Steve’s face.

 

His face was flushed and he still looked upset, his face a mask of distress, but he gave a faint, limping sort of smile and nodded.  “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse and brokenly uneven.

 

Tony wasn’t so sure of that.  “You sure?” he pressed.  He got one hand under Steve’s chin, tilted it up a little.  “You don’t sound okay,” he explained.

 

“Bad . . .” Steve took a deep breath, and then tilted his chin up himself, squaring his jaw.  “Bad dreams,” he said.  “That’s all.  Sorry I woke you up.”

 

Tony shook his head, smiling a little, brushed his fingers lightly against Steve’s jaw, wanting to soothe him.  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, “I wake up easy.  Not your fault.”

 

“You don’t wake up when I get up in the morning,” Steve said, a little waveringly, with another small, brave smile, pushing himself up to sit with his arms linked around his knees.  He looked down at his hands.  They were trembling, and he firmed them into fists, clenched them tightly.

 

“That’s different,” Tony muttered.  And it was different—a lover getting up in the morning wasn’t a crisis, and a nightmare was, was filed under a totally different category of situation.  He sat up, too, looked over at Steve, his broad bare shoulders silvered in the moonlight and gleaming dully, more brightly where cold sweat was drying on his skin.  He hoped he wasn’t too cold.

 

“I really am sorry I woke you,” Steve said, sighing down at his hands.  He gave Tony another wry little smile.  “You looked so peaceful before I fell asleep.”  He bit his lip again, looked down.  “I liked seeing you like that,” he said, more quietly.

 

“Hey,” Tony said, and reached out, impulsively, slid his thumb along Steve’s lip, moving his teeth away.  Steve’s eyes widened at him, and Tony felt a flush of embarrassment.  “You’re already bleeding,” he said.  “You’ll hurt yourself.”  He pulled his hand away.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, still very quietly, not looking away, “it’s just a bitten lip.”

 

Tony shrugged, and he did look away.  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

 

Steve made a noncommittal noise.  He was still staring down at his hands.  “It’ll heal,” he said, faintly.

 

“I mean from the nightmare,” Tony said.

 

“Jesus,” Steve said, and he put his head down on his knees, hiding it in his arms.

 

“Steve?” Tony said, alarmed.  He put his hand on his back, rubbed a little, reassuringly.  “What is it?”

 

“Nothin’,” Steve said roughly.  “Nothing, I just . . .” he blew his breath out.

 

“Need a minute, yeah,” Tony said, understanding.  And he was getting in the way.  “I’ll go.”

 

“No!” Steve said, his head coming up.  They stared at each other for a moment, and then he dropped his gaze.  “Unless . . . if you want to,” he mumbled.  His hands clenched up into fists again, then he trembled and opened them against his knees.

 

Tony blinked.  Swallowed a little.  Steve wanted him there?  It didn’t seem possible.  That nightmare must have really shaken him up.  He could understand needing the company, not wanting to be alone.  “I’m right here,” he said quietly.

 

Steve nodded, took a deep, shaking breath.  They sat in silence for a minute, Steve staring at his knees, then off toward the far wall.  After a brief moment, Tony started stroking his back again, and Steve shuddered and sighed, and his shoulders dropped, relaxing, so Tony didn’t stop.  

 

“I saw the video,” Steve said, eventually, low, still looking away, gaze fixed on the wall.

 

Tony blinked.  “Um,” he said, stilling his hand.  “What?”

 

“It’s all over the internet,” Steve said bitterly.  “Osborn doing what he did to you.  Me . . . doing what I did to you.  You could watch it as many times as you wanted.  If someone wanted to watch your face getting busted in.  And—” his voice broke “—and people do.  The one of us has over a million views.”  He covered his face with his hands, linked them over the back of his neck and took a deep, shaking breath.  “I hate it,” he said viciously.  “Why do people look at things like that?”

 

“Um,” Tony said.  He let his hand still on Steve’s back, wondered if he should take it away, considering . . . considering what he was talking about.  “Horror fascination, I guess?  They feel like they should be up on . . . current events?”  People enjoyed seeing Tony’s face beaten in?  Tony wouldn’t have blamed them.

 

“I could have killed you,” Steve said faintly, dully.  “And no one would have stopped me.”

 

“I don’t think stopping you is what most people would have had in mind,” Tony said in a wry tone.

 

“I hope most people would want to stop a murder,” Steve bit out rigidly, his shoulders seizing up, and Tony realized that might not have been the best thing to say, right before Steve’s shoulders slumped again.  “But I suppose the fact they’re willing to watch one almost happen isn’t the best testament to that,” he said more quietly, almost brokenly, and rubbed at his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said in a low voice.

 

“What the _hell_ ,” Steve said, and he sounded almost tired, but then he turned to him, and his eyes were flashing, “what the hell do you have to be sorry about?” he demanded.

 

“Um,” Tony said.  His mind went blank.  There was too much.  Information overload.  “I . . . just . . . wow, Steve, what do you want me to say?  Pick one.”

 

“Are you apologizing?” Steve demanded.

 

“What good would that do?” Tony asked wearily.  “I’d do the same thing, we’ve been through it, we all know it.  Apologizing is a cheap way out from under the weight of what I chose to do, willingly, in my right mind.  And when I’d do it again, it rings pretty hollow.  Wouldn’t you say?”  The best he could ask for, Tony thought, but didn’t say, would be absolution.  Not an apology.

 

Steve looked at him, piercingly, then dropped his gaze.  “Then what would you do?” he murmured.  “To make up for something you wished you could take back.”

 

“I’m doing it,” Tony said, feeling cornered.  “Trying to move forward.  Trying to do better.  Always . . . trying.  Next time I’ll find a better way.  I have to believe that, or . . .”

 

“Or you couldn’t keep on going,” Steve said softly, and for the first time, Tony thought they might not be talking about him here.

 

“Steve?” he said, questioningly, uncertainly.

 

“I hurt you,” Steve said, bitterly, tiredly.  His eyes looked wounded, haunted.  “I . . . I might have killed you.  I meant it.  For a moment I think I did mean it.  And I have to live with that.”  Steve shrugged, and his eyes tightened, his mouth worked a little, pulled to one side.  “I see that,” he said, “saw it,” and looked down at his hands, clenched them, then opened them again.  “Sometimes I wonder if there’s that much difference,” he said.

 

“What?” Tony asked.  “Steve?  You’re really not making a lot of sense here.”

 

“Between me and him,” Steve murmured.  His face twisted.  “The paint job,” he said, and his fists clenched.  “And the things I said . . . .”

 

“Uh,” Tony said, “am I supposed to be following this?”

 

Steve sighed, raised his head, and one hand, tracing it along Tony’s face.  “I did mean it,” he said, his voice sounding steady again, but absolutely wretched anyway, and that level of unhappiness in Steve’s voice made Tony feel sick and awful, his throat hurt and his stomach ache.  “What did that fight turn me into?”  His fingers sifted back into Tony’s hair, brushed it back off his face.

 

“Steve, you didn’t kill me,” Tony said.  “Clearly.”

 

“What do you think I was dreaming about?” Steve asked, a wry, sad smile on his face that looked entirely out of place there.

 

Tony swallowed.  He didn’t know what to do with that.  He didn’t see why—it wasn’t—it didn’t make sense that Steve would be that upset over him, but well, he didn’t know the details of the dream, and here Steve was, upset, so he just shoved that confusion to the back of his mind.  No need to worry about it, there was probably more to the dream that Steve wasn’t saying, and what mattered was making him feel better now, helping him calm down, being here for him, and comforting.  “Well, you didn’t,” he said.  “Like I said, I’m fine.  I’m right here.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  He blew his breath out, heavily, looked down.  His fingers shifted down, brushed down over Tony’s throat.  “Yeah.  You are.”  He still sounded heavy, sad, a little bit aching.

 

“Hey,” Tony said.  He tugged lightly on Steve’s shoulders.  “C’mere.  It’s okay.”

 

Steve sighed, moved forward, wrapped one arm around Tony, and lifted the other hand, rested it along his neck, slid it up into his hair, his thumb resting against the scars, only slowly healing, at the base of Tony’s skull, stroking back and forth there, slowly.

 

“I’m all right,” Tony said, softly, against his ear.  “You know that, right?”

 

Steve gave an uneven breath, leaned in, pressed his lips to Tony’s neck, against his pulse.  Tony reached up, linked their fingers together, and squeezed gently.

 

“I’m pretty tough,” he said.  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Rogers.”

 

Steve squeezed his hand back.  “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said.

 

“I swear to be your personal cockroach from here on out,” Tony said drily.

 

Steve looked at him like he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right, and then his mouth quirked, and he laughed.  “Tony . . .” he said.

 

“I know, I know,” Tony said.  “That was horribly inappropriate and a terrible image.  Cockroaches, yeah, no.” 

 

“You’re impossible,” Steve said, fondly.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, more quietly, “so I hear.”

 

Steve brushed his hair back from his forehead, curved his hand against the side of Tony’s face.  “And you’re nothing like a cockroach,” he said, his brow quirked a little as he smiled.

 

“I sort of am,” Tony said.  He grinned a little.  “Just ask Norman Osborn.”

 

Steve snickered.  “Well, if you ask any of them,” he said, “we all are.  They don’t count.  Besides, so are they.  Always popping back up.  Can’t get rid of ‘em.”

 

Tony tilted his head back, looked up at him, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders.  “Are you all right?” he asked seriously.

 

Steve shrugged, looked down.  “I don’t know,” he said, and it sounded honest.

 

“I guess that’s fair,” Tony said.  He didn’t know if he was all right, either.  Especially not in an overall, general, technical psychological sort of sense.  He pushed Steve back down against the pillows, slow and easy, and Steve let him, going pliant under his hands, let him push him back into the bed.  “Do you need anything from me?” he asked seriously.  He figured Steve might want something, another round of sex, maybe, to take his mind off the nightmare.  He had a thought.  “Do you want some of that tea you bought?”

 

Steve smiled a little.  “Just stay with me, that’s all,” he said, voice low and quiet and a little rough, a little thick.

 

Oh.  “Sure,” Tony said.  “That’s simple enough.”  He hesitated a moment, not quite sure how to do this, then, slowly, laid down against Steve’s shoulder, let him curl his arms around him.  After a moment he closed his eyes, let his head shift to the most comfortable spot, pillowed in the hollow of Steve’s neck.

 

“Not always,” Steve said.  “But thanks, Tony.”

 

“No problem,” Tony murmured.  “Any time.”

 

He was surprised when he felt Steve’s hand seek his out, curling around it, lacing their fingers.  Steve pulled his hand up until it rested against his chest, and Tony opened his eyes a bit, looked up at him to see that Steve had his own eyes closed and was breathing in slow, deep breaths as if to calm himself, rubbing his thumb along the heel of Tony’s hand.  It seemed like it actually was helping, so Tony just squeezed his fingers lightly back and closed his eyes again, letting Steve hold his hand to his chest as he dropped off to sleep.

 

\-----

 


	2. Two

“It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.”  
― Epictetus

Steve had woken up early long before the army, but the combination of the serum and military training had ingrained what had just been habit before even deeper than that. The others teased him sometimes about getting up with the sun, but Steve couldn’t deny that most of the time it really was true. When he opened his eyes that morning, the slowly brightening light of the morning sun was just starting to fill the room, and Tony was sprawled loosely across his chest, half curled on one side, one hand curved in against Steve’s, their fingers only very loosely linked now. Tony was breathing evenly, slow and easy. The light shed by the RT cast strange shadows against Steve’s chest and Tony’s face, the smooth surface digging just slightly into Steve’s skin so that the energy it gave off made him tingle just a bit. He could see that that was going to take some getting used to, but only in a good way.

 

Seeing Tony there made Steve’s heart speed up a little. It was still a surprise to find Tony here, in bed with him, had been every time they’d woken up like this, tangled up in each other, and after the memory of the night they’d had last night and the way he’d awoken Tony it hit him particularly hard, lodging tightly in his chest and stopping up his throat so he had to struggle to swallow past it, feeling his cheeks flush slightly. He wished he hadn’t woken Tony up. The last thing Tony needed was to be comforting him for stuff like that.

 

But Tony had been so patient. More than he’d expected, even. Steve swallowed. Obviously confused, but staying with him, holding him and comforting him with his body, trying to make him laugh . . . Steve sighed and looked down at Tony’s sleeping face, rubbing the surprisingly smooth skin of his back lightly with his fingers, just grazing it, over his shoulders, not wanting to wake him.

 

He wasn’t sure Tony understood what he’d been trying to say. He didn’t even know if he knew what he’d been trying to say himself so, hell, of course Tony hadn’t understood it. He just knew that even now thinking about it, everything, made him feel restless, dissatisfied. With everything. It wasn’t Tony’s fault for being confused. But . . . .

 

Why was it so unbelievable that he might express concern for Tony, and guilt over what he’d done to hurt him? He’d been friends with Tony a lot longer than the fighting between them had ever lasted, after all.

 

It wasn’t like he was saying that he thought he’d been wrong about registration, because he hadn’t been. He still thought the idea of it, the act itself, and the ways it had been enforced, was as criminal, as wrong, as he always had. But just because he hadn’t changed his mind about that didn’t mean he’d been right about everything. And the things he’d done—he’d been out of control, he’d hurt people. He’d hurt his friends, hurt civilians—other heroes, innocent people. He could have really hurt Tony, could have killed him. He almost had. More than anyone else, he knew, knew that when he’d swung his arm up with his shield he’d been meaning to bring it down again. He’d felt the certainty in his shoulder, the muscles of his arm, the torque of it. He’d been a breath away, a second. He’d hesitated, that was all.

 

And Tony had spoken to him, and he’d realized. What he was doing. Where he was.

 

What he was.

 

It didn’t matter what side he was fighting for, what cause, how right he had been. That had been wrong. Steve knew it. It was wrong to beat on your friends, even when you didn’t come that close to doing something unforgiveable. It was wrong to cause public terror and widespread damage.

 

And when you did that, you took responsibility for it. That was what this was about.

 

Sure, he’d been angry with Tony; he could still remembering the scorching, overwhelming breathlessness of it, the sheer furious disbelief that had swept through him, given him strength, but you didn’t do . . . that, no matter how angry you were. You didn’t use your strength to hurt people, or you were no better than the people you fought.

 

Tony had fought him, but he hadn’t lost control. He had hurt him, but Steve had never been afraid for his life, not from Tony. For other things, maybe—the kids he was fighting with, the country, civilians. But not for himself. Tony would never have killed him. Steve had known it, but he hadn’t let himself believe it. Hadn’t let himself think about it. Not until later. Afterward. And then he’d told himself it was because Tony needed him to stand trial, and sure, maybe that was even true, but they both knew that wasn’t the whole reason.

 

So Steve had to live with that, too. And Tony’s unquestioning, uncomplicated forgiveness. No, not even forgiveness. You couldn’t forgive someone if you didn’t see any fault in the first place, and that was the worst part of it.

 

Steve swallowed hard, tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. It would have been easier if anyone—Tony, the team, anyone at all, had given him a hard time over it. Over any of it, not just what he'd done to Tony. But people hadn't just forgiven him; it was like now no one wanted to admit that he'd broken the law in the first place. And instead the only person who had given him the cold shoulder was Jarvis, and he’d already forgiven him and was making his favorite foods for him again, as if in apology for his earlier coldness. And, well, he’d got the impression Rhodes was reserving judgment for a while, though he must have made up his mind that Steve was all right sooner rather than later. He supposed Ms. Hogan-Potts might have a problem with him, too—he hadn’t really been in her company enough to tell if she was treating him much differently than she had before.

 

But Jarvis had practically raised Tony, and Rhodes was indisputably his best friend, along with Ms. Potts. Steve had almost killed Tony in the middle of New York City, and they were the only ones who had a problem with it?

 

That didn’t sit right with Steve. At all. None of this did. The way the team had fragmented and fallen apart—the way no one had had Tony’s back while he wasn’t there—that was what he couldn’t get past. He himself hadn’t been around, sure, but that didn’t mean Avengers didn’t look out for each other, no matter what else was going on. And he worried that it was because of him—he’d been the one who’d almost killed Tony, first. Had they taken their cue from him? He’d been angry, yes, but . . . why did they think he’d surrendered? If not to put an end to the fighting. To stop all of it. Stop them from hurting each other, each other and innocent people. To finish it.

 

They had to do better. He had to do better. This, none of it was acceptable. They should have been there, damn it. He shouldn’t have come back to Tony half dead and without half his mind (brain-damaged, that whispering, horrifying voice in the back of Steve’s mind reminded him, he’s brain-damaged now) because not a single person on the team had had his back. Goddamn it, Maria Hill of all people had had Tony’s back more than people Tony had fought alongside for years.

 

And that made it hard to forget—hard to forget his own fists smashing into Tony’s face, the feeling of his shield in his hand. Made it hard to forget his own part in all this. This whole mess. And he shouldn’t forget that. Sure, he’d resented that Tony got to forget his part in it and Steve had to live with his own. He’d been upset. Still was, if he was honest. But he couldn’t blame Tony for the steps he’d taken to save them all, or the way he’d sacrificed himself; it would be unforgivably petty, and he knew that memory or not, Tony knew perfectly well what he’d done wrong, the things he’d said even last night had made that perfectly clear.

 

So it was Steve’s job to remember his half of it. And make up for it. Not do it again. Do better this time.

 

He ran his fingers down Tony’s spine again, feeling the living, solid, breathing warmth of him, then kissed his forehead, right beneath the inky black tumble of his hair, and sat up, carefully shifting him down into the pillows. Tony moved easily, curling onto his stomach, sighing sleepily against the bed, one hand fanning out, as if searching for something, then folding in against the sheet, and Steve ran his hand through his hair, gently, pulled the blankets up over him, and slid out of the bed to stand up.

 

He stood there, for a moment, looking down at him. He wondered if he’d ever stay in bed long enough to be there when Tony woke up, and smiled a little. It didn’t seem too likely at this rate. And that was fine. Tony needed the sleep. Steve was pleased that whatever his own dreams had been like, Tony had seemed to sleep deeply and soundly every night they’d spent together. If Tony’s insomnia was anything like it had been most of the years he’d known him—Steve liked to think he was helping somehow, even if it was just exhausting him physically with sex.

 

Steve opened the door, closed it behind him, and then stopped. Bucky was waiting in the hall outside Tony’s door, in the clothes he usually wore to run with Steve, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He raised his eyebrows as Steve stepped out, closing the door behind him.

 

“Buck,” Steve said, exasperated. “Really?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said. “I figured you were going to tell me, but then you didn’t. And you kept not doing it. So I thought why not show the guy he has nothing to be afraid of?” He shrugged, gave Steve a bit of a wry look. “I know you’re sleeping with Stark, and I didn’t freak out.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, feeling himself flush slightly. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. It’s just that . . . .” He found himself casting a glance back toward Tony’s room. “I wasn’t sure if Tony wanted people to know.”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t, but since I know already without you having to tell me, there’s no problem, right?” Bucky said. His eyes looked a little dark, a little uncertain, and there was some tension in the way he was holding himself, despite his attempts to seem casual. Steve had always been able to see through those, better than most people could, and it was one thing that hadn’t changed. “You didn’t break his confidence, and we’re all good.”

 

“I guess that’s right,” Steve said, smiling a little, even as he felt his face heat up still further. “Am I, uh, that obvious?” he asked.

 

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Well, yeah, you are,” he smiled a little, “but probably only to me.” He hesitated. “So, we okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “of course.” He could see it as Bucky relaxed, and stepped forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, squeeze, then tousle his hair, playfully. “Though you’re a little punk for doing this, you know that right?”

 

Bucky ducked away, dodged his hand—a skill he’d only perfected after several years in the war, since Steve’s enhanced reflexes were hard to dodge. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, grinning. “I know.” They started down the corridor.” So,” Bucky said, “tell me about it, is Stark good in bed?”

 

“Bucky!” Steve said, trying not to laugh. “I am absolutely not going to talk to you about that.”

 

“I figure he must be,” Bucky said, completely unfazed. “You don’t get a reputation like his for nothing, right? No smoke without fire.”

 

Steve’s face felt very hot now. “We get by just fine,” he said. He wasn’t about to break Tony’s confidence when it came to anything like that, and he’d never thought it was all right to kiss and tell, but to be honest, Bucky was right—it was a lot better than fine.

 

Bucky laughed. “Ha,” he said, “I bet.” He punched Steve in the shoulder lightly, with his real hand, as they headed for the stairs. “But listen,” Bucky said, after a moment. “You know what you’re doing here. Don't you?”

 

Steve looked at him.

 

“It’s just,” Bucky said, looking down a little, and his words slowed, like he was thinking about them more carefully. “Stark is . . . you’ve got to know he’s kind of a mess. Hell, you know him better than I do. You didn’t see him after you died, though. I did. He’s . . . really into you. Don’t know how else to say it. What happens if this doesn’t work out?”

 

“It’ll work out,” Steve said.

 

“Because you and Stark always work out,” Bucky said. “Yeah. Uh-huh. I saw how well that one can go.”

 

Steve looked down, away, as they started down the stairs. He had to swallow hard, then lifted his head. “That’s not going to happen again,” he said, determined.

 

“So if you break up, you’ll just break his heart without the tearing the country apart,” Bucky said, “that’s the plan?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve said. He had to swallow hard at that, but he made his voice very firm. “I’m not going to break his heart.”

 

“So this is serious?” Bucky said. “Because anything else is going to go a pretty long way toward doing that, the way I see it.”

 

“It’s not going to happen,” Steve said. “I . . . thought about this, Buck. And I . . .” he sighed, looked down again. “I want it to be serious,” he said. “I thought about it for a . . . for a long while.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Just wanted to make sure. We've had enough of a mess between you two jokers already. You know what Sam's going to say about this when he finds out? He's going to think you've gone out of your gourd.” He elbowed Steve a little, grinned at him, and there was the warmth and teasing and fondness and a little bit of threat that Steve had known was coming. It was probably true, about Sam. Steve figured he'd be a little surprised at first, at least. Bucky laughed a little, probably at the expression on Steve's face, and shrugged. “Look, Stark’s still not good enough for you, but I guess as far as the possibilities go, he’s not too bad. There are worse out there. I’ll give him that.”

 

“You’re still being a little punk,” Steve said again, smiling a little, nudged him right back in the ribs. “Of course he’s good enough for me.”

 

“Well, you would say that,” Bucky said. “Especially if he’s that good in bed. Just make sure he treats you right. You hear me?”

 

“I’m more worried about the other way around,” Steve said—and it was true. Especially after what Bucky had said. If Tony was really in love with him . . . the last thing Steve wanted was to hurt him. He didn’t want to do exactly what Bucky had said might happen. He didn’t want to break his heart. Especially after everything Tony had been through lately. No matter whose fault it all was, it was a lot for one man to take, even one as goddamn tough as Tony was.

 

But Steve really was serious about this, about him. About all of it. They’d started things moving pretty quickly, but he’d had something for Tony for years. And the last thing he wanted was to lose him as a friend.

 

The last thing he wanted was to hurt him any more than he already had. He was done with hurting each other. They’d both done enough of that.

 

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, squeezed a little before he brought his hand away. “You’ll do your best,” he said. “Like you always do.” He sighed, squeezed Steve’s shoulder a little more firmly. “And if I know anything about Stark, that should be more than good enough for him. Now, are we going to run or not?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, and let that reassure him, told himself that yeah, he would do his best. And that was that. That was all he could do. 

 

He and Tony would be fine. They would be more than fine. They would be amazing.

 

He smiled at Bucky. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s get to it, pal.”

 

\-----

 

Things with Tony kept on moving, after that, though they kept not getting near as much time together as Steve would’ve liked. But he figured that was always the way it was going to be, and he might as well just get used to it. That was how their lives worked. Tony was always working, or off at Resilient, or in his endless string of meetings, or suiting up as Iron Man, on his own or with the team, and Steve went out on more missions, and realized, halfway through one of them, one hand on the wire in his ear while he paced, that he really did miss him out here with him, being in the field together. More than he’d even realized. He just sighed and went back to the mission, but it was hard to shake the sudden feeling that he was missing something important, someone standing at his back.

 

It turned out that while they were on the trail of something for sure, the mysterious organization they were tracking down wasn’t above hiring thugs to do their dirty work. Of course. Were they ever? It never failed, everyone always managed to disappoint Steve’s expectations, even when he thought they were damn low. Steve ended up missing Tony even more as he dodged and rolled and tried not get hit by various members of the Serpent Society—not that he didn’t appreciate his new team, but other than Natasha, he wasn’t used to working with most of them, and it just made that extra little bit of difference in a fight.

 

Which, sure enough, it did—King Cobra got in a hit hard enough to knock him right off his socks, end over end into a wall. When he opened his eyes again, shaking his head, Natasha was helping him up, and the fight was over.

 

“This wouldn’t have happened if I’d had my shield,” he told her as she gripped his hand, reached out to check his eyes. His head was throbbing.

 

She smiled a little. “I know,” she said.

 

“Not that I want to take it from Bucky,” Steve assured her, wincing at the light and holding one hand to his head as she helped him up. “I’m just letting you know.”

 

“I know,” she said again.

 

“Is everyone all right?” he asked.

 

“Everyone’s fine,” she assured him, “except you.” She reached up, touched his forehead again, and frowned when he winced. “You have a concussion for sure,” she informed him. “You need to get checked out.”

 

Steve sighed, raised one hand to his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Give it a night and I’ll be good as new.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha said. “Get checked out. Then go home and let Tony keep you up for a while. Good deal?”

 

“Um,” Steve said. He thought he might be blushing a little. “I guess Buck told you, then?”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, still smiling. “Please,” she said. “Like I needed him to tell me.”

 

“We’re trying not to be obvious,” Steve said, disgruntled from having left himself open to the hit and the pain in his head as well as the apparent obviousness of his relationship with Tony.

 

“Don’t worry,” Natasha said, still smiling. “I just know what to look for, that’s all. You remember my line of work deals with this sort of thing quite a bit?”

 

Steve supposed that was true. “All right,” he said. 

 

“My lips are sealed,” Natasha said. “As long as you get checked out, that is.”

 

To be honest, what she’d described did sound pretty good. Not the getting checked out part, but the rest of it. Steve sighed, and smiled at her a little back. “All right, all right,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You got me. I will.”

 

“Good,” Natasha said, and winked at him. “I usually do.”

 

Steve did, actually, go to get checked out. There was a lot more to do to finish up the mission and make sure everything was secure, first, but eventually he went and let the doctors at SHIELD poke and prod him. It felt so pointless when they weren’t going to tell him anything he didn’t already know and after a good night’s sleep he knew perfectly well he’d feel as good as new, but he let them anyway, getting more and more eager to get out and get home the longer he stayed there.

 

It was only once he’d been cleared and was on his way back, head still aching fiercely, that he realized he probably shouldn’t be thinking of the Tower as home these days. But what else was there? The Helicarrier? That was never going to be home to him. The thought made a dark sense of gloom settle over him, and he was frustrated with himself and his headache, tired, and feeling more than a little irritable by the time he got there.

 

This was stupid. The injuries were stupid, too, the result of him being stupid and leaving himself open because he couldn’t adjust for not having his old shield. There was no excuse for it. He was better than that. And he needed to be a hell of a lot better than that. He could adapt and change, and learn. And he would.

 

He really did just want to see Tony. But Tony wasn’t there—he couldn’t find him anywhere in the Tower. He thought about asking one of the others where Tony was, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone, not really. They’d probably want to talk, and he was in the sort of mood where that would be a trial, and he didn’t want to be rude to anyone. That wasn’t fair. Instead he went up to Tony’s room and knocked, a little hesitantly, on the door. He still felt pretty awkward doing this, years of thinking of this as an intrusion, as not his place, building up in his head even as he waited there.. After a moment Tony’s voice came from the other side. “Yeah,” he said, sounding distracted, “come on in.”

 

Even more relieved that he was actually there than he’d have expected, Steve opened the door and stepped inside. Tony was wandering around his room talking on the phone, and he grinned at Steve, waved at him a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, look—there’s some stuff I need to take care of here. Call you back? Yeah. I’ll handle that. Talk to you later, okay? Okay.” He turned off the phone with one pass of his thumb, then laid it on the nearby coffee table and turned to Steve.

 

He was dressed in a dark maroon shirt, the first few buttons unbuttoned, his tie was loose around his neck, and his feet were bare, his hair tumbling over his forehead, messily tousled. Steve swallowed.

 

He looked amazing like that.

 

“Hey there,” Tony said. He took a step forward, then crossed the room to Steve, looking him up and down in much the same way Steve knew he’d just been doing to him. Steve was suddenly very aware of the scuffed and dirty state he was in, that he was still in his tight-fitting commander’s uniform, that his hair was messy and out of place, too, and the bruises that were still visible on his face. “Sorry about that,” Tony said, a little apologetically.

 

“It’s all right,” Steve said, offering him a smile. Tony closed the door behind him, then came back to stand in front of him—he brushed the hair back off Steve’s forehead with his fingers, revealing the bruises, and frowned a little.

 

“You have a black eye,” he said.

 

“It’s nothing,” Steve told him.

 

Tony smiled a little. “You fell down the stairs, right?” he said, brushing his fingers very lightly over the bruising on his forehead. “Walked into a door?”

 

“No, I’ll admit to it, I got hit in the face,” Steve said. “But it’s not a big deal. Barely hurts.”

 

“Hmm,” Tony said, frowning a little again. He ran the backs of his fingers down the side of Steve’s face, gentle against his bruised jaw. “Sure it doesn’t,” he said.

 

“I just want to spend some time with you, forget about it,” Steve said, smiling a little. Besides, Tony was clearly forgetting about Steve’s pain tolerance. He reached out, set both hands on Tony’s waist. “Really, I’m fine.”

 

Tony frowned a little more, but he did rest both hands on Steve’s shoulders, then slid them up, linking them around the back of his neck. “You seem tense,” he said. “Hard mission?”

 

“Just frustrating,” Steve admitted. “How was your day?”

 

Tony smiled a little, shaking his head. “Busy,” he said. “But you don’t want to hear about business.” He ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Steve’s neck.

 

“Maybe I do,” Steve told him, and Tony grinned.

 

“You don’t,” he said. “But I can talk about it if you want. Stock options and payroll and media appearances and technical specifications . . . .”

 

Steve smiled himself. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’m more interested in how it was for you.”

 

Tony blinked a little at him. “Tiring,” he said, “mostly.” He smiled. “A little boring. I didn’t get to take anything apart.”

 

Steve smiled a little bit wider at that. “You would say that,” he said.

 

“Hey, at least I’m not talking your ear off about transistors,” Tony said, a little defensive.

 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve told him. He stroked his thumbs against Tony’s sides, feeling the warmth of his skin under the smooth fabric of his shirt. “I like it when you do that. Get excited about something.”

 

Tony just looked at him, like he wasn’t making any sense. “You like it when I ramble on about things you’re not interested in,” he said.

 

“Sure,” Steve said with a smile. It was endearing, and he liked seeing Tony excited, seeing his eyes light up, seeing him wave his hands as he talked. “You’re interested in things, and I like that.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said, but he still sounded dubious. “So, you said the mission was frustrating?” He rubbed his fingers against the back of Steve’s neck, up into his hair, making it fluff up the wrong way, then stroking it back down. Steve shivered a little. It felt good. It felt great.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just . . .” he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say.

 

“Okay,” Tony said, and Steve had no idea how he’d gotten anything from that, but apparently he had. “Yeah. Sure.” He leaned forward and kissed Steve, gently, slowly, but firmly. Steve sighed, leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth and sliding his arms more firmly around Tony in return. He could feel the lean muscle under his hands, against him, the solid weight of him, the slimness of his waist, the warmth of his skin as the cloth of his shirt shifted. Tony slid his hands up into Steve’s hair and kissed him more warmly, and Steve pulled him even closer. They stayed like that for a long minute, trading kisses, until Tony pulled away, slid his hands back down over Steve’s neck to his shoulders, and smiled at him. “More like it?” he asked.

 

Steve felt himself flush. “Sure,” he said. “I, um, yeah.” He supposed that was one of the things he’d been trying to ask for, and it wasn’t like he was about to turn down a kiss. Just having Tony here, no matter what they did, was enough.

 

“Right,” Tony said, half to himself, under his breath, then nodded. He curled his hands around Steve’s shoulders, tugged at him a little. “Head over to the bed,” he said, nodding at the door to his bedroom. Steve raised his eyebrows at him, grinning a little, but went willingly. He moved to unfasten his uniform, but Tony followed him through the door and batted his hands away. “I’ll get that,” he said, unzipping it and peeling it off, though he let Steve tug it off over his arms. Steve stripped down to his shorts and laid down on the bed at Tony’s urging, not quite sure what Tony wanted to do—this didn’t seem like the lead-up to sex. Or at least, not exactly like it. But he was willing to do whatever Tony thought was a good idea. Tony had a lot of good ideas, a lot of worrying ideas, true, but also a lot of good ones, and he was discovering that held true for this sort of thing, too.

 

Sure enough, Tony ran one hand down Steve’s back, along his spine, then put both hands on his shoulders as Steve pillowed his head on his crossed arms. “You look good in that uniform,” he said.

 

“Do I?” Steve said. He frowned a little. “It’s just a uniform.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said, and Steve was sure from his voice that he was smiling. “A skintight uniform that shows off every inch of you.”

 

“It’s so I can move easily,” Steve said, faintly embarrassed. “I’m not trying to show off . . . anything.”

 

“I know,” Tony said, sounding amused. “It’s how you are. Not your fault, you just look that good.” He brushed his fingers over the bruises on Steve’s shoulders, very lightly, then skirted them, dug his thumbs in against the back of his neck. It hurt for the first moment, then the pressure released something somehow, and Steve sighed in sudden pleasure and relief. He hadn’t even realized how tense his neck was until that moment. He usually didn’t get that tense; the serum did its best to work out any kinks or incipient muscle cramps before they turned into anything, but that meant whatever tension built up in his muscles usually went completely beneath Steve’s radar. He didn’t even think about it. But he was thinking about it now, as it flared and tingled and then released under Tony’s searching fingers.

 

Tony kept working his thumbs into the back of his neck, working them up to press firmly against the base of his skull, then back down. Steve let his breath out in pleasure as Tony moved his hands down over his shoulders, give them the same treatment, careful to work around the bruises. Tony had strong, clever hands, scarred with work, and despite how battered Steve’s back and shoulders felt, it still felt good—amazing—as Tony worked the tension away, even with the occasional flare of soreness from the bruises.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve said on another sigh, his eyes half-closing in bliss.

 

“This is called volunteering, sugar,” Tony said. “I don’t mind.”

 

Steve smiled a little at the endearment, against his arm. He liked it when Tony called him things like that. It made him feel a little warm, a little flushed, more than a little happy. “If you’re sure,” he said.

 

“Of course I’m sure,” Tony said, but he sounded more subdued now. A little hesitant. Maybe he was just concentrating, Steve thought, then shivered as Tony moved his hands down his back. It felt good. Really good. Massages with Sharon had always been good, too, but he hadn’t wanted to ask, and he hadn’t realized how much something like this would help. It was just like Tony, he thought, to know before he’d even begun to think of it—this never would have occurred to him.

 

Tony touched a place on Steve’s back, just above the waistband of his shorts. “More bruises?” he said.

 

“I landed on my rear,” Steve said, a little embarrassed, and a little frustrated by that. He pressed his face into his arms a little, rubbed his forehead against them.

 

“Ah,” Tony said. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Steve’s shoulder. “I promise to be gentle,” he said into Steve’s ear.

 

Steve smiled a little, shook his head. “No need for that,” he said. “I’m up to whatever you have in mind.”

 

“Are you sure?” Tony said, pressing another kiss just behind Steve’s ear, into his neck, even as he rubbed at Steve’s lower back, driving his thumbs in on either side of his spine. Steve groaned a little at how good it felt. “What if I decided to get a little rough with you?”

 

“I can’t wait,” Steve said, half-aware that his voice sounded a little dreamy and not caring one bit. That idea made him feel pretty dang dreamy.

 

Tony laughed and kissed his cheek. “Maybe save that for later?” he asked, but he did move to straddle Steve, throwing one leg over his back.

 

“You can get rough with me any time you want,” Steve informed him.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony said. He put both hands on Steve’s sides and skimmed them up slowly, making Steve’s skin prickle with warmth, trailed them back down, then repeated the gesture, slow and more teasingly this time. “You want to turn over?” he said, and Steve rolled over with a grin and reached for him. Tony’s lips met his a moment later.

 

They kissed for a while before Tony sat up, quickly pulled off his own shirt, followed it with his pants, and leaned down to kiss him again, taking both sides of Steve’s face in his hands. Steve reached for him, and they kissed for a long time again before Tony slid down over him again, braced himself against the pillows with one hand and rolled his hips against his, hot and sensuous.

 

It didn’t last long, but even once they’d both come, Tony didn’t stop, instead resting one hand on Steve’s chest and nudging him back down when he tried to sit up, sliding down to kneel between Steve’s legs. “Tony?” Steve said. “What is it?”

 

Tony laid one hand on his hip. It felt very warm, warm and sweaty. “I could get you off again,” he offered, smiling up at him. “Want to go for it?”

 

Steve reached down, linked their hands, lacing their fingers. Tony was always so generous, in bed. It had been nice, the other night, to see him just letting go, letting Steve take over for a bit, just feeling it. “You don’t have to,” he said.

 

“I want to,” Tony said, and he really did sound sincere. “Unless you don’t want more right now.”

 

Steve felt his cheeks, already flushed, get a little warmer. He usually wanted more, though he didn’t ever need it, but he didn’t want to say that. Tony just grinned at him, squeezed his hand and then shifted it up, resting their linked hands on Steve’s belly before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve’s hip, then trailed a series of kisses downward. He ended up sucking Steve’s cock, slow and warm, driving Steve smoothly but inexorably back up toward the edge, until Steve came again, came up to the peak and fell down the other side, shaking and gasping for breath, and yes, this time feeling just a little overwhelmed, from how quick it had been, one orgasm right after the other. Tony swallowed, again, which made Steve feel even dizzier, hot and lightheaded, just the feeling of it, the knowledge that he hadn’t even hesitated, not even once, then moved up, kissed the corner of his mouth. Steve turned his head, pressed their lips together in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting his own seed on Tony’s tongue as he wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, combed his fingers through his hair. They kissed for a long moment, Tony swaying into it, looping one arm around Steve in return, before he finally pulled away, gasping. “Be right back,” he said. “Unless, uh, you want to go again, of course.”

 

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “Tony,” he said.

 

“Do you want to?” Tony asked. He slid one hand down Steve’s chest. “Because I’d be more than willing to—”

 

“No, no,” Steve said quickly, flustered and a little awed by the suggestion in itself. It wasn’t that none of his other partners had been willing to indulge his refractory period, because that wasn’t the case at all—he just hadn’t been expecting it, that was all. Hadn’t been expecting anything like the kind of generosity in bed Tony seemed so intent on. “Um, no, I’m fine. I’m good. Thank you, though.”

 

Tony smiled. “Sure,” he said, easily. “Don’t go anywhere—I’ll be right back.” He kissed Steve’s forehead, got up, and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Steve lay down against the pillows in Tony’s bed, still a little breathless.

 

It was amazing how much better he felt, just from that. Of course, sex was bound to make anyone feel good, he figured, all that release and pleasure and good activity and the closeness, but it wasn’t just that part of it. He’d come in frustrated and anxious and in a stubbornly dark mood, and that was gone like it had never existed. Tony’s smile, his touch, just having him here . . . he felt like he was home again, and that . . . that was really something.

 

This thing with Tony—he was grateful for it, so grateful. After everything that had happened—after coming back from the way the Red Skull had trapped him in his own mind—he had felt disconnected, cut off, horribly—and stupidly, he’d known it was stupid even while he couldn’t shake it—alone. He hadn’t been sure of his place in the world even before he’d . . . well, before he’d been shot. And everything he’d missed hadn’t made that any easier to deal with. He was afraid he’d taken a lot of his feelings of isolation, his fears and impatience with himself and the world around him, out on Sharon, which might explain why they weren’t together right then. Maybe it was getting easier to deal with as time passed. Maybe it was just that he’d expected too much from her, from being with her. That hadn’t been fair to her, not at all. Maybe he’d just been a jerk.

 

This was different, though, somehow—maybe he’d just moved on from where he had been then, maybe it was because his friendship with Tony had always been different than what he had with Sharon, not necessarily better, but definitely different, and that gave him something else to fall back on, something easier. Maybe it was because he hadn’t ever expected this. Since he’d started this with Tony, it had given him something to focus on, to plan for, to think about, something new and exciting and so unexpected, other than his work, other than fixing everything that had gone so very wrong in Steve’s absence—it was like having Tony back, their friendship back, and more than that, all at once. He wished they’d done this earlier, just said something, done all this years ago—maybe it would have prevented . . . everything that had happened—but he supposed there wasn’t any point to dwelling on that. He had this with Tony now, a chance to make things right between them, better than they’d been before, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He wasn’t going to waste any more time pining over might-have-beens. Surely he, of all people, had learned better than that by now.

 

His headache was fading, too—his muscles felt loose now, relaxed. He felt a lot less tired, actually. Tony gave a great massage, that was for sure, but then, he had strong hands, engineer’s hands, Steve guessed. He stretched a little, let his hands fall back against the pillow, over his head, linked them and rested them on his head. The ache in his neck was hardly noticeable now.

 

It took Tony another minute to come back out of the bathroom, and when he did he was dressed, in boxer shorts and a robe. He sat down on the bed beside Steve and smoothed a warm, wet towel down over Steve’s stomach, leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder. Steve reached up, wrapped one hand around his neck, tugging him down to press a kiss of his own against Tony’s temple, then down, seeking out his mouth and leaving a kiss there, too. Tony smiled a little as he kissed him, kissed him back for a moment, then went back to cleaning Steve up with the towel.

 

“Were you planning to stick around?” he said after a moment. “Because I have some more work to do.” He made an apologetic face. “Sorry, but you know how it is.”

 

“I can keep you company,” Steve suggested. Just staying here with Tony while he worked sounded fine to him—better than fine, it sounded great.

 

“It’s going to be pretty boring,” Tony said dubiously. “I won’t be able to really talk or anything.”

 

“That’s fine,” Steve assured him. “I won’t get in your way.”

 

“That’s not what I was worried about,” Tony said quickly. “It’s just . . .” he hesitated, folding the towel over in his hands. “Okay,” he said, and gave Steve a smile. “If you’re sure you won’t be too bored. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

“I promise I won’t say a thing,” Steve said, grinning at him. Tony smiled a little back and leaned forward to kiss him, briefly, before he got up again, went into the bathroom, and came back a few minutes later without the little towel. He wandered around the room a bit gathering up his computer, his tablet, and a few stacks of papers, then came back and left them on the bed before he took up a place beside Steve and opened his laptop. “Okay?” he said, looking at Steve as if he still wasn’t sure Steve was serious.

 

“Aces,” Steve said, just to see him smile a little at the old-fashioned slang, and rolled over, looped his arm over Tony’s waist and laid his head against his shoulder. “This good?”

 

“Sure,” Tony said, blinking as if he was surprised, then smiled a little and dropped one hand to rest it on Steve’s head. He skimmed it down Steve’s neck to his back, between his shoulders, circled it there slowly as he opened an Excel file and started typing into it with one hand.

 

Steve smiled. This was nice—things being quiet, and a little lazy, just Tony’s presence and warmth beside him, their bodies pressed together from head to foot. He couldn’t have asked for more. This was perfect. After a while, Tony’s hand moved back up to stroke through his hair, and he pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead, a little distractedly, not shifting his eyes from his computer screen.

 

Steve’s smile grew, at that little distracted, almost instinctive piece of affection, and he hid it against Tony’s shoulder. They stayed there like that for quite a while, only sometimes exchanging words, and it was the most relaxed Steve had felt in a long time, until finally, he fell asleep right there, one leg thrown between both of Tony’s and one arm still wrapped around his waist.

 

\-----

 

Steve was asleep, his arm still loosely resting curled around Tony’s waist and his face pillowed on his shoulder, halfway on top of him. Tony wasn’t sure how deep his sleep was, and he didn’t want to wake him, so he kept doing exactly what he’d been doing before—stroking his hand idly through Steve’s hair and typing. Steve’s body felt very warm against his, even through the cloth of his robe, like he was pressed up against a living furnace, even though Steve was only covered up to the waist. Tony stopped typing just long enough to tug the blankets up a little further over Steve’s shoulders, pressed another soft kiss against Steve’s forehead, then went back to his work, sighing at himself as he did.

 

He needed to remember not to do things like that. They weren’t like that for each other. He kept forgetting, and then Steve came and did things like this—he just wanted company, a way to relax, Tony knew that. But somehow being his fuck buddy had put Tony in the role of the person Steve came to for that, and . . . and he just wasn’t sure how to handle that. He was used to having either fun one-night stands, or a relationship. He supposed he just wasn’t good at drawing this kind of boundary. And Steve seemed to have an entirely different idea of where it was than Tony did, which wasn’t making it any clearer. He supposed Steve was thinking they were friends, just like before, and so cuddling wasn’t too far out of bounds. It just hadn’t been what Tony was expecting, that was all.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. He liked it far too much. The fact that Steve was here, right here, with him—he treasured it. That was the problem. That was the whole problem, really. He was sitting here listening to the beats of Steve’s heart, counting them, holding him close, and his stomach was all twisted up, his heart aching.

 

It wasn’t fair. Tony knew that. He was conducting his relationship with Steve, such as it was, under false pretenses. He couldn’t even begin to pretend that he was being honest with him, that he was telling the truth, that any of this was fair to Steve at all.

 

He was in love with Steve, and Steve had absolutely no idea of that little fact. Instead, he was treating Tony like a friend, a partner, a lot like things had been before, with more sex and more . . . affection, and okay, some cuddling, but without any idea that Tony was taking advantage of him the way he was, that he was selfishly harboring this secret, unasked-for love for him that he hadn’t let him in on, was soaking up those simple, affectionate gestures like they actually meant something, despite himself. He knew they didn’t. He just . . . . Steve was coming to him for a short list of things—friendship, companionship, and sex, and Tony knew perfectly well that love wasn’t on the list.

 

He knew perfectly well, too, that he owed Steve the truth, after everything—especially after everything. The very least he could do was be honest about why he had agreed to this, what he was getting out of it, to tell Steve the truth, the whole truth. How he felt about him, how long he’d been in love with him. Let him look for a real relationship that was actually what he wanted, either casual sex or actual feelings, but something based on reality, and not Tony’s selfish choice to go along with whatever Steve wanted because it happened to fall right in with his stupid fantasies. Tony was under no illusions that Steve would want anything to do with him after that, especially after he revealed how he had been using him, concealing the truth from him like he was now. Steve hadn’t said anything about feelings, not since the very first time they’d done this, and Tony couldn’t imagine he wanted to deal with Tony’s messy issues. Why would he? That was the last thing he needed, for sure, especially with things in the world being what they were, all the stress and pressure he had to face up to now. The least Tony might have done would have been to give him a fair heads-up on what he was getting himself into with him, but he hadn’t even done that.

 

Once he let Steve know, how incapable Tony was of keeping this friendly, that he’d been over-invested in this from the start, Tony was sure this whole thing would be over. And it was getting harder and harder to think about losing it, about not being the person Steve came to when he’d had a rough day, about not being the person to give him pleasure, who got to watch him as he fell apart under his touch, not being the one he wrapped a casual arm around or whose hair he played with, and Tony knew that was a bad sign. He’d told himself that he was doing this for Steve, just to give him what he’d wanted, whatever he’d wanted, but he knew he’d been lying to himself. He was doing this for himself, all for himself. 

 

It was so horribly selfish. He’d just . . . wanted to be the thing Steve wanted, for a little while. 

 

That was what it came down to. He’d always treasured being his friend, and this was like that, but even more than that at the same time. He knew that wasn’t an excuse. None of it was. The truth was that he was carrying on a relationship with Steve under false pretenses, and . . . well, that was all there was to it. That was it. Period, tab down, next paragraph.

 

Steve made a soft snuffling sort of noise and moved closer, rolling himself over on top of Tony a little more and pressing his face in against Tony’s shoulder, then subsiding with a soft sigh. Tony slid one arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer, ran his fingers up into his hair a bit, looking down at the bruises over his shoulder. They had already changed color from the first time Tony had seen them, though they still looked like they hurt. Tony doubted Steve really felt them, though, they were all used to bruises, and Steve healed quickly, had an alarmingly high pain tolerance, one that had often worried Tony. It didn’t make Tony any happier seeing them there. He ran his fingertips lightly over the swollen, mottled skin, and sighed.

 

Steve seemed happy, at least, and relaxed. That was something. He’d seemed stressed when he first came in. At least Tony had helped that much. But he couldn’t keep telling himself that this was all right just because Steve seemed to be content with it, because what Steve was content with wasn’t the whole story. It wasn’t the whole truth. And letting Steve stay content with half-truths . . . well, Tony might not remember everything that had just happened, but he was pretty sure his letting Steve go on in blissful ignorance of registration for as long as he had hadn’t helped anything.

 

Tony wasn’t quite certain what to call what he felt for Steve. Love, infatuation, some sort of overly intense friendship . . . he really didn’t have any idea. Feelings weren’t half as easy to classify as the tensile strength of metal, and he’d never been that good at it, tangling love and loyalty and guilt and affection and want all together in his mind and then wondering what any of it meant. He just knew he’d felt it for a good long time now, that he’d wanted this—more than this—with Steve, for years. From the first moment he’d seen him, really seen him, out of the ice, lying there, he’d already felt his heart pick up speed, pound in his throat and his ears, his palms go all sweaty—even before that, he could admit it, he’d had something like a crush on Captain America. And that hadn’t gone away when he got to know him better, it had just changed, to be all about Steve, rather than Cap, the man behind the shield, old-fashioned and stubborn and pigheaded and sometimes a little bit of a dork. Okay, Tony admitted, smiling to himself a little, fondly, maybe more than a little. Tony’s friend. And this—the way he felt now, it was like everything he’d repressed, everything he’d dismissed or pushed down again and again, was bubbling up to the surface, and now it was impossible to ignore. He’d known he was attracted, known he felt strongly about Steve, but he hadn’t realized he felt like . . . this, that it was this, this sort of thing. It was too much, too intense—how was he going to keep hiding something like this?

 

He’d thought it was impossible to feel any more strongly than he already had about Steve, but he was wrong. He just kept falling more and more in love with him. And this was only making it worse, all of this—Steve resting in his arms sure wasn’t going to stem the tide, either—and he couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it. He couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure how he’d felt about Steve during everything that had happened. He’d seen himself breaking down in public over his death, and he could . . . well, he could imagine, could imagine vividly and in Technicolor surround sound, how he would have felt, but he didn’t know. Something might have happened between them then that he had no way of knowing about, something that had fundamentally altered the way Steve felt about him, or the way he felt about Steve. But he had no way to know that, any of that. It was gone. Forever, as far as he knew. All he could know was what he felt for Steve now, and the way he’d always felt about him before the blank space. He’d always been a little embarrassed, afraid that the others might be able to tell—that he was too obvious, that he brightened too obviously in Steve’s presence, or too much fondness showed through in the way he talked to him. That he smiled at him too much, or flirted with his eyes so that the others could tell, just a little too often. Now he had to wonder how much their relationship had changed during the time he couldn’t even remember, just like he already wondered if Steve would ever be able to trust him again.

 

Well, all this, having kept the way he felt from him, wasn’t exactly going to help with that, was it?

 

He sighed, ran his fingers through Steve’s hair again, and just for a moment, pressed his cheek tight against Steve’s forehead, holding him close. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath.

 

He was going to miss this. Which was probably pretty compelling proof that he shouldn’t have ever allowed himself to accept it in the first place.

 

\-----

 

It wasn’t what Tony had been expecting when he’d woken up that morning—not even when he’d suited up and responded to the call to assemble.

 

Not at all. He’d thought it would be a routine mission. Just one more bunch of idiots stirring up trouble, the way most Avengers calls had been lately.

 

So of course it wasn’t anything that simple, or that easy.

 

It was also the last thing any of them needed. The wounds the SHRA had left were only now starting to heal, and a reminder of what had been the catalyst for it all, what had torn them apart in the first place, wasn’t going to help one bit with that. He couldn’t even remember, not really, and just from watching the news footage and his own recordings, he could feel his blood pressure going up at his first sight of Nitro.

 

“Keep it together,” Bucky was saying, his voice snapping over the comm. “Hold it. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you.”

 

So he was worried about the same thing Tony was. The rest of the team was already showing signs of strain, more rage than anything, which wasn’t good. The kind of press that went along with Logan murdering the guy or someone pounding his face in in a frenzied rage was not the kind of press any of them needed right now.

 

He just had to make sure that he wasn’t the one who lost control of his temper.

 

“Are you sure I can’t beat him up, just a little bit?” Peter said, and it would have sounded like his normal lighthearted rambling, except for the touch of anger in his voice.

 

God, they were all going to lose it soon. Tony had to do something.

 

He’d fought Nitro before, and now that the guy had shown up again as some two-bit terrorist—threatening to blow up Times Square, really? That was his big return after Stamford?—he knew how to handle him, but also that this could get bad, fast. It was a little risky, sure, but taking care of this was the least he could do, especially since he was pretty sure he was the only one who could take Nitro out of the equation quickly and safely. It was a no-brainer.

 

Steve’s voice in his ear startled him, made him check his flight for a moment. “Cap alerted me to the situation,” he said. “How’s the team?”

 

“Steve—uh, Commander?” Tony said, before he thought. “What—”

 

“Captain America alerted me to the situation,” Steve said. He sounded calm enough, but there was tension in his voice. “In your opinion, Iron Man, where’s the team at?”

 

The channel was just the two of them, Tony realized—just in case, he checked his comms himself, only to find that yes, it was a private connection. “Situation’s not good,” he said. “The team’s too emotional to handle this well, and he’s got us where he wants us. But I have a plan. I’ve gone a few rounds with Nitro before.”

 

“You know the risks here,” Steve said. He sounded grim. “He’ll probably set off a blast as soon as you get close, and you can’t risk it. Let Cap take point and go for him while he’s distracted.”

 

It was still so strange to hear Steve referring to Bucky as Cap. The oddness of it threw him off, just for a second. “Right,” he said out loud, after a second, toggling his comm back to the team channel, and nodded at Bucky, figuring that Steve would have alerted him, too. There was no real drawback to going with Steve’s plan, instead of his own—there was no point to Nitro going off now, with them all so far away, and if he did this fast enough, it just might work.

 

Sure enough, Bucky nodded back at him, then threw his shield. Tony waited just long enough to be sure that he’d attracted Nitro’s attention before he stepped behind a street lamp and absorbed the armor back into himself. Luckily, none of the others noticed, since he wasn’t about to discuss it; they had limited enough time as it was. He sprinted toward Nitro, hoping that he could blend into the fleeing crowd and escape his notice despite going in the opposite direction.

 

Like he’d thought earlier, it was a risk, but it was the least he could do.

 

It took him a second, but then he was grabbing onto Nitro from behind, a chokehold Steve had taught him, one that immobilized his arms, and he had just enough time to say, “Hi,” and enjoy Nitro’s shocked look backward before he was bringing the armor back out, and it was folding in around him, slipping slick and cold over his skin, and taking off, dragging Nitro with him despite his struggles.

 

He’d been expecting Nitro to choose to explode before Tony could do anything other than get him as far away from the civilians and city as possible, and sure enough, it was only a few seconds after he’d cleared the tops of the buildings (which equaled hundreds of meters, luckily enough, with the speed of the armor’s bootjets), that Nitro went for it. Tony had been ready for the exploding force that he remembered, maybe a little stronger—he remembered a force equal to about 160 kilograms of TNT—but when the heat and power of the explosion engulfed him, he had just enough time to think that it was a lot stronger than that. The force buffeted him, he went tumbling head over heels, with just an impression of intense, searing heat. He concentrated on not letting go, though he was certain he dropped, could feel himself plummeting before he kicked one leg out and stopped himself.

 

His own notes on the incident at Stamford had recorded that Nitro had been taking mutant growth hormone. Clearly he hadn’t kicked the habit in the intervening time. Wonderful.

 

Tony pushed more power into his bootjets and took off toward the harbor, twisting around in midair and taking care to give any buildings a wide berth, speeding up to fly between the skyscrapers as Nitro cursed and fought his hold. In the harbor he’d have some risk at landing on some poor slob’s fishing boat if he ended up falling, but at least he wouldn’t be responsible for a bad swerve taking out the Empire State Building, or half of Manhattan. He could hear Logan swearing in his ear—he wanted a shot at Nitro, and Peter was doing his best to follow him from building to building toward the harbor, but Tony was doing serious time, and lost him somewhere around the Flatiron District. He swerved to fly out over Brooklyn, over the bridge, to avoid most of the taller buildings and get him toward the water more quickly. He was hoping he’d get far enough out quickly enough that the next time Nitro exploded, there would be less risk of collateral damage. To do that he was sinking almost all his power into the jets, despite the risk of hardly having anything left to put into shields. Hopefully he’d be able to reroute before Nitro decided to let another one go—and if he didn’t, well, then he didn’t, and hopefully the armor could take at least one blast like that last one. Tony was pretty sure it could.

 

He was nearing the water when Nitro got in a good enough hit to knock his head back, and the man twisted around in his hold, pulled back his fist, and Tony had a split second before it slammed into his shoulder with the force of an explosion. It might not have been as big as the last one, but it was more focused, and Tony heard himself cry out as the pain hit him, his hand losing its grip on that side so that he was forced to grab onto Nitro with one arm, his gauntlet fisted in his shirt.

 

Tony gritted his teeth, fought through the pain in his arm to lift it again, get it back around Nitro, kicking up the speed a little more. He wasn’t about to drop him now; that would just be bad for everyone.

 

Nitro grabbed him around the neck, leaned in close. “So,” he said, “Stark, we get a rematch, huh?”

 

“I can hear you,” Tony managed, through his gritted teeth. “The sensors in my armor pick you up, no need for the invasion of personal space.”

 

“I wasn’t the one who brought us up here,” Nitro said, not pulling away, instead grinning and pulling him even closer. “What, you wanted some alone time with me? Wanted to talk? Don’t suppose you want me to blow up another school so you can steamroller a bill through Congress? It worked so well the first time.”

 

Tony’s hands suddenly went nerveless—he almost dropped him, before he remembered what he was doing, that he had to hold onto him, that he couldn’t drop him, not now. “Not really that funny,” he managed, blankly.

 

“You’re a businessman, you know how to play the game,” Nitro said, “don’t you?” He put both hands on either side of Tony’s head, and Tony grabbed one, yanked his hand away from the helmet, ducked his head desperately to protect himself from the imminent explosion, which rolled them forward. They tumbled head over heels, in the air.

 

Tony blinked spots out of his eyes. He could hardly see—he was falling. He felt hot. He righted himself with an effort, tightened his arms, because he couldn’t drop—Nitro, right. He rolled them over again, kept flying for the harbor, keeping them as level as he could with his head spinning, telling the armor to fly straight, relying on the math since his own equilibrium was shot.

 

“Goddamnit, Stark,” Nitro was cursing, twisting, trying to get free from his grip. He punched Tony in the shoulder, the one he’d got earlier with that exploding punch, and Tony shut his comm down with a swipe of his chin to keep the guy from hearing his hiss of pain, used the time, as he panted for breath, to increase the shields, estimating the kind of force Nitro was putting out now. Once he got his breath back, he turned the comm back on.

 

“Right,” he said. “Rematch.” He took a deep breath and shot a pulse through the armor, the same one he’d used to force Nitro to explode before, however many years ago it had been now. He had a moment of wondering if it would even work, if it would even be the same frequency, now that Nitro was on MGH, not to mention how many other things had changed—but then the light of the explosion bloomed around them again, pure force shot through him, pain flooding after in its wake, and found himself dropping again, just for a moment, before he remembered to catch himself. “Feel free to tap out,” he muttered, and sent out the pulse again.

 

Nitro snarled at him, slammed his fist into Tony’s shoulder again, and the force of the explosion hit him there yet another time, even more focused. Tony hissed in his breath, tightened his grip with his other arm, and sent out the pulse again. And again. The world swam, nothing but dizzying shapes, tumbled around him, and heat, heat and pain.

 

“Fuck you, Stark,” Nitro was shouting.

 

“No thanks,” Tony said, a little vaguely, and ran the pulse again. And again. And again. It had been exploding a few times per minute that had stopped Nitro last time, but Tony wasn’t sure if the MGH would have affected that, too.

 

He knew he didn’t remember what had happened at Stamford, not really, but he had seen the pictures, read the reports, the news articles. He’d known what it had done, to those kids, the town, to them, all of them—to the country—what it had meant.

 

“Not again, Nitro, ” he said. “You’re not getting a chance at another Stamford. Not here. Not anywhere. Not ever again.” He ran the pulse another time, and the answering explosion shook him through to his bones. He could feel the armor starting to fail beneath the onslaught—Bleeding Edge was good, and the shields were even better, but the way it was connected to him, he could feel the damage every explosion sent ricocheting through the nanites and metal and into him. It was probably good to know the limits of the technology, he thought, a little dizzy, talk about one hell of a stress test. He ran the pulse again, and he thought he might have yelled aloud that time but didn’t hear it, didn’t hear the scream, as something shorted, he could feel it, something went out, and he started to fall, and even when he tried to right himself he couldn’t, and he realized far, far too late, far too close to the ground—it was bluish, sort of gray, it was—it was water—that the suit had responded to the loss of power by rerouting everything into shields to protect him, cutting out the flight systems as it did.

 

They fell into the water with a splash, and Tony was immediately thankful for the shields. Water, all around him—on all sides, and which was up—couldn’t let Nitro drown, even if he was one hell of an asshole—he shunted the power back into the bootjets and kicked up toward the surface. It seemed to take a very long time; he must have been deeper than he realized.

 

He broke the surface with another splash, dragged Nitro out of the water—tougher than he’d expected with only one real arm to do any pulling. He’d half expected another explosion once they broke the surface, even under the water, and he’d be vulnerable to it with his shields down like this, who knew what that would do to him, even through the armor—it might have pummeled him against the sides of the suit, or cooked him inside it. But instead, Nitro just hung limply from his arm, an unresponsive, heavy weight. He looked like he was out. Tony had just enough brain working to do a scan of the other man’s vitals, which told him that he was unconscious, but alive.

 

So that was all right, then. Tony told the armor to go back and land on the helicarrier and to definitely not drop Nitro on the way there, and then he sort of . . . lost focus. He must have fuzzed out. He didn’t think he’d really passed out, but everything had gone gray and dim and slow, hard to focus on, hard to make sense of, for a while. He knew he wasn’t totally aware because even though he kept thinking that he had to get to the helicarrier, get Nitro in custody, he didn’t remember how long it took to fly there, and he always remembered things like that unless he was halfway to passed out. He didn’t hurt so much, it was just hard to think through the gray dull blur in his head. He landed on the helicarrier too hard on his knee and one hand and winced, slid a little—that had never been the greatest sound, the screech of metal dragging along metal—before he dropped Nitro. But he thought he’d be okay. He hadn’t dropped him that hard.

 

“Iron Man,” someone was saying.

 

“Stark!”

 

“We need a prisoner detail, dangerous metahuman, top deck,” someone else said, and Tony remembered he needed to tell them how to deal with him.

 

“Exploding powers,” he managed to rasp out. “Taking MGH—null harness could hold him, my specifications should be in the—databanks. Increase the intake to deal with increased abilities. Factor of five should cover it.” He had to catch himself with his other hand, slapping it down against the deck, which send a flare of pain through his shoulder, radiating, throbbing down his arm. He took a deep breath, then told the armor to stand up, which was convenient, because that meant he went with it. He tried to steady himself, tried to blink enough to clear his vision, steady his heaving breaths. Several agents ran up, handcuffed Nitro, pulled him up and away. Tony just stood there for a moment, letting them do their job and trying to clear his vision, but the gray spots wouldn’t dissipate, and he felt faint, dizzy, a little nauseous, both overheated and too cold at the same time. He was fairly certain he’d be falling over right now if not for the armor.

 

“Tell medical to prep for incoming,” it was Steve’s voice—oh yeah, Steve was on the helicarrier, Tony had forgotten that, but he would be. Commander Rogers and all that stuff.

 

“Steve?” he said, and then Steve was right in front of him, and the armor’s sensors were registering Steve’s hands on either side of the helmet, Steve’s hands on his shoulders.

 

“I’m right here,” he said. “What were you thinking? What were you—God, Tony.”

 

“I got him,” Tony said, breathless but still a little proud it’d gone off okay. “I know it was a little risky, but it paid off, right?”

 

“I’m not saying it didn’t,” Steve said. “I just—Tony—yeah. I guess it did.” He stepped in a little closer. “Do you want to get the armor off?” he said in a lower tone.

 

“Oh,” Tony said. “Right. Sure.” He concentrated on absorbing the armor. It seemed to take more effort than it normally did, and it stung, a little, prickling under his skin in places as it passed through him. Once it was gone, he stumbled worse than he’d been expecting, but Steve was there and got his hands under his armpits, supported him before he could stumble forward or wobble too badly. “Whoa,” Tony said, as the world spun around him wildly. He gave a brief laugh. “I guess I’m a little dizzy.”

 

“I’ve got you,” Steve said, sounding graver than Tony thought was warranted. He wrapped one hand around the back of Tony’s head, and hissed a little when Tony winced and made a face, which was silly, Tony thought, he was the one who was hurt, and it wasn’t even that bad. Steve was overreacting. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

 

“Just superficial,” Tony assured him, waving vaguely at himself—he remembered just in time to make sure it was with his good hand. “Not just me,” he added, grinning. “The injuries, I mean.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said, sounding exasperated, but he was smiling a little. He still looked worried, though. Tony wanted to reach out, smooth that worried wrinkle from his forehead, but he was aware enough to know that there was no way that would be okay. Not here. Not ever, really. “Come on.”

 

“Right,” Tony said. “Going.”

 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Steve said quickly. “I’m walking you there.” He slid one arm around Tony’s back, just under his shoulders, and he was careful enough that it didn’t jostle his injured one too badly.

 

“I’m fine,” Tony assured him. “It’s no big deal.”

 

“Let me,” Steve said, “all the same. I insist—call it pulling rank if you want to.”

 

“That’s never worked on me,” Tony informed him.

 

“Let me walk you there anyway,” Steve said, leaning in so he murmured it practically in his ear. It sent a shiver down the back of Tony’s neck, along his spine.

 

“Okay,” he allowed, gulping a little. “Just because you won’t shut up about it otherwise.”

 

“Yes,” Steve said, a little drily, Tony thought. “I’m the stubborn one here.”

 

Despite what he’d said, Tony was grateful for Steve’s support once they started forward. He heard him give a few more orders—telling the agents how to deal with Nitro, that the two of them were headed to the infirmary, that he himself might be busy for a while. Tony figured Steve was probably going to take charge of Nitro’s questioning himself, after everything that had happened, what the man had been responsible for in Stamford, he no doubt wanted to handle the situation carefully. Tony concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not swaying too much, or leaning too much on Steve. The gray spots were still swirling in front of his eyes, and he had that sickening, swooping feeling of lightheadedness that got worse whenever Steve’s support inadvertently jarred his shoulder, or his hand brushed along it. “Easy,” Steve said, whenever he sucked in his breath, or wavered. “Take it easy.”

 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to hover,” Tony told him, trying not to let his voice sound too breathless. “I’m not going to keel over.”

 

“I’m not hovering, I’m helping you,” Steve said. His voice tightened. “And . . . and I’m allowed to be worried.”

 

“I didn’t say anything about you being allowed,” Tony said, defensively. “Just said I’m—I’m fine.” He took a deep breath. “And I am.”

 

“I’ll believe that when someone other than you tells me,” Steve told him. “And anyway, you’re loopy as hell—you’re in shock, and you might have a concussion.”

 

“Not fatal,” Tony pointed out. “You just had one.”

 

“That’s true,” Steve said. “But get it checked out anyway.” He nosed in against Tony’s ear until his lips were just brushing the shell of it, not enough to hurt, and breathed, “For me?”

 

“That’s a low blow,” Tony said, a little blankly, surprised that Steve would use that trick on him of all people. Twice! That was the second time he’d used it that day.

 

“It sure is,” Steve said. “But will you?”

 

“Since you asked me in such an underhanded and manipulative fashion,” Tony said. “Sure.”

 

He felt Steve grin, press a quick kiss just behind his ear, almost ludicrously gently, and then pull away. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

 

“I can’t wait,” Tony told him. Even though it was sarcastic, he still had to swallow hard as his stomach flipped at Steve kissing him like that.

 

“Great!” Steve said cheerfully.

 

It wasn’t too long after that that they reached the infirmary. There wasn’t much activity, but one of the doctors immediately came to meet them. Steve batted her away until he got Tony sitting down, and only then let her move in to look at him. He was being so hovery—Tony almost called him on it, then decided to let it go. He sighed as the doctor started to examine him but endured it, moving to take off his shirt when she asked him to, only to have Steve take over that job for him, glaring at him when he dared to protest. Steve sucked in his breath and touched his biceps, lightly, just under his shoulder. “Tony . . .” he said.

 

“What?” Tony asked. “Looks worse than it is, I promise.”

 

“How would you know?” Steve asked, and while Tony was still staring at him, affronted, the doctor moved in again.

 

With Steve’s help, he was summarily stripped down to his underwear, which happened to be red and, well, rather brief that day. He’d thought, that morning, that Steve might appreciate it later, that was all. As it was, Steve gaze came up to meet his, looking surprised, and Tony shrugged and gave him a half-smile. After a moment Steve blushed and looked away, then reached up and gave Tony’s good shoulder a little squeeze, rubbing slightly.

 

Tony smiled a little. So he did appreciate it. The doctor looked between them and raised her eyebrow, but apparently decided that this was only what one could expect from Tony Stark, because she didn’t say anything, just turned her attention back to his ribs. “Looks like you have a dislocated shoulder and some broken ribs along with the burns,” she said, after poking and prodding at him enough that Tony had to grit his teeth against it. She got him lying down—after another glare from Steve—and then things blurred out again, into a hazy mixture of flares of pain and directions from the doctor he did his best to follow, discussions between the doctor and Steve, and Steve talking to him and rubbing his good shoulder. He was being incredibly affectionate, over-solicitous, but Tony figured he might as well let him get away with it for now. After all, if this was because they were involved sexually, he probably wasn’t going to be able to experience it much longer, and if it made Steve feel any better about the whole thing, it was the least he could do. At least lying down made the sick, gray dizziness ease off after a while, and the room eventually stopped spinning quite as much, as long as he held mostly still, though he couldn’t help shivering a little, stripped down to the brief strip that was his underwear. Steve’s hand on his shoulder was a welcome spot of warmth. Steve and the doctor kept talking, and Tony kept trying to follow their conversation, but it was a strain, and his mind kept blanking on what they were saying, losing the thread and wandering away.

 

Eventually they got an IV into him, and he was so focused on what they were talking about, trying to follow it, that he didn’t even notice at first. The doctor told him it was just antibiotics and some fluids to keep him from getting dehydrated from the burns he’d gotten, but despite his protests that he didn’t need medication, he could feel it almost immediately as the pain slipped away, underneath the surface of the easy lassitude that washed over him in a slow, hazy wave.

 

“Steve,” he protested, reaching forward to fiddle with the IV, only to get a forbidding glare from the doctor. Steve caught his hand and pulled it away again, and Tony scowled at him. “Come on, I told you. I’m fine, I don’t need a painkiller, I’ll be . . . be just fine without it.”

 

“I’m sure you will be,” Steve said, brushing Tony’s hair back off his forehead and smiling a little down at him, “but it’ll be easier for the doctor to do her work this way, and then we’ll be able to get out of here sooner.”

 

“I don’t like narcotics,” Tony protested. He swallowed. “You know I’m—I have reasons. Steve—”

 

“It’ll be all right,” Steve said. “I’ve got you. They’ll just dull the pain. It’ll be fine.”

 

“I need to get out of here anyway,” Tony muttered. Rumiko had done this to him, too, he remembered, suddenly, gotten him doped up in a hospital bed, and suddenly his throat felt thick, it felt like too much, overwhelming, to even think of her. He took a deep, ragged breath, set his jaw and looked away.

 

“You’re staying right here, Avenger,” Steve told him, holding him down gently but firmly with one hand on his shoulder. He reached out, gripped Tony’s other hand tightly as the doctor slid the other shoulder back into joint, making Tony flinch and groan through his teeth even with the drugs, biting back a hiss at the flare of pain even through the dull gray haze. Steve held him tight, letting Tony’s hand bear down tightly on his without a word as the doctor finished wrapping that shoulder.

 

“C’mon,” Tony said, after he’d gotten his breath back, and had a reasonable hope that his voice wouldn’t be all rough and jagged. “It’s not that bad, just a few bumps and bruises. And . . . .”

 

“It looks plenty bad enough to me to justify you staying in bed,” Steve said, sternly. “Besides, I seem to remember you making me a promise that you’d get yourself looked after.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said, “but—”

 

“This is part of it,” Steve told him.

 

“That’s not part of the deal I was envisioning,” Tony told him. He felt really woozy now, easy, floating, but he still frowned at Steve for that.

 

“Not my fault if you don’t read the fine print,” Steve said.

 

Tony stared at him a moment, then frowned a little more. “There was no fine print,” he said grumpily. It was so hard to focus now. “It was a verbal agreement.”

 

“All right,” Steve agreed, smoothing his hair back from his forehead again. “But I still need you to stay here.”

 

“Why do you need that?” Tony asked.

 

“Okay, maybe _you_ just need to stay here,” Steve said, smiling. “Doc, how is he?”

 

“Nothing too serious,” she said, “but I agree. He should stay for a while, let us get a good dose of antibiotics into him and make sure nothing else is wrong that we might have overlooked, before we let him go anywhere.”

 

“Hey, I’m right here,” Tony said.

 

“So am I,” Steve said. “Thank you, Doctor.”

 

Tony sighed, tried to push himself up and reach for the IV again. “I’m just going to get up and walk out as soon as you leave anyway,” he told Steve. “Uh, sorry, Doctor.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m planning to stay for a while longer,” Steve said, firmly. “Now stay put.”

 

“I’ll leave him in your hands for now,” the doctor told Steve. “I have to tell you, Mr. Stark, it is a better idea for you to stay here for a bit. You’re in shock and concussed, along with everything else that’s wrong with you. Resting your system is the best thing you can do, at this point.”

 

“I get it,” Tony said. At any rate, he understood what she was saying. He just had other things on his mind, things he needed to do. “Thanks for all your help.”

 

She gave him a doubtful look, but she got up. “I’ll be here, and I’ll come back to check up on you in regular intervals until such time as I decide to allow your release,” she said.

 

“Thanks,” Tony said, dubiously.

 

“You’re very welcome,” she said, so sweetly it had to be sarcastic, and got up to return to the other side of the room.

 

“Look,” Tony said, sighing and turning to Steve. His head was still swimming, and he felt far away, good, but dizzy, incapable of focusing on anything. He hated feeling like this. But at least he wasn’t feeling the pain anymore; he supposed that was the best he was going to get right now. “You don’t have to stay here just to keep an eye on me. I’ll be a good boy and stay put. You have more important things to do.”

 

“You’re important,” Steve said, quietly, sounding serious. After a moment, he leaned forward. “What were you thinking, Tony?” he said. “First you charge Nitro without even your armor on, then you let him blow you up over and over again?”

 

“I was thinking we couldn’t afford another . . . well, you know,” Tony said, and swallowed, aware his voice sounded as vague and drifting as he felt, and feeling more than a little defensive, on top of it. What had Steve wanted him to do? Hadn’t he handled it well enough? “Not in New York of all places, on top of it. And I was in the best position to do something about it. I’ve dealt with Nitro before, and . . . yeah, I just thought it was the best way. Besides, I was making him blow up—I was in control. Or I got in control. Either way. It was all right.”

 

“You were in the epicenter of that explosion, over and over again,” Steve said. “That sort of blast killed the New Warriors, Tony—killed those kids.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Tony agreed. “We couldn’t let it happen again.”

 

Steve sucked in his breath unsteadily. “It could have killed you,” he said.

 

“The armor’s tougher than that,” Tony said. He leaned over and searched out Steve’s arm, patted him, trying to be reassuring. “I’m fine. Not dead.” He smiled a little at him. “Only a little blown up.”

 

Steve gave a rough little laugh and took Tony’s hand, pushing him back into the bed. “Only a little blown up,” he said, sounding disbelieving. He took a breath. “Well, you’d better not get blown up any more than that, mister.”

 

Tony reached up with his good hand, the sweetly blurry haze in his head making him reckless. He brushed his fingers against Steve’s cheek, along his jaw. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

 

Steve reached back up, closed his fingers around Tony’s. “You’d better,” he said severely, his brows drawing together.

 

Tony swallowed. “Sorry about that whole thing,” he said. “I’ll plan better next time—won’t get hurt.”

 

“How about next time you don’t try it at all?” Steve asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question. Tony just grinned and shrugged the shoulder his mind reminded him didn’t hurt, though everything was fuzzily numb at the moment, and he couldn’t really feel much from either of them.

 

“No promises on that,” Tony said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, and sighed. “I figured.” He looked down at Tony a moment, and there was something in his eyes, something strange that Tony couldn’t figure out, especially when his mind was so floating and fuzzy, so he just smiled at him again.

 

“You look good in that uniform,” he offered.

 

Steve blinked. “Um,” he said. “Do I? You said that before.”

 

“Well, you do,” Tony said, with feeling. “Really good. You’re so hot. Damn.”

 

Steve flushed a little. “Tony,” he said. “Really?”

 

“Am I not supposed to say that?” Tony asked. “Because you are. Really.” He ran one hand down Steve’s arm and smiled at him. “Really hot.”

 

“I don’t know if this is the time or the place,” Steve said, but he was smiling back.

 

“You’re hot whenever, wherever,” Tony told him, and Steve flushed up a little more, looking down and smiling.

 

“Shush,” he said.

 

“I’m just stating facts,” Tony told him. “That uniform isn’t fair. At least, with you in it. I bet it causes tons of junior SHIELD agents awkward moments of being impossibly turned on. Makes them question their sexuality. The whole deal.”

 

“C’mon, Tony,” Steve said. His cheeks were very red now.

 

“I thought you wanted me to stay right here in bed,” Tony said. “I’m not going anywhere. Or coming.” He grinned.

 

“Oh, now you decide to be literal,” Steve said, but he took Tony’s hand again, pressed it back down against the thin medical blanket and covered it with his, looking down at him. Fondly, Tony thought, and had to swallow hard through a suddenly thick throat.

 

“I meant it,” he said, “you don’t have to waste time here with me. I’ll be fine. Go on. I know you have important stuff to get to.”

 

“In such a hurry to get rid of me?” Steve asked, smiling a little wryly.

 

Tony wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Of course he wanted Steve there, but he wasn’t so needy that he was going to ask for it, God. And he knew perfectly well that Steve had other, more important places to be. Steve was just being kind to him, and patient. Maybe because they were sleeping together, he had no idea—but he didn’t want Steve to think he didn’t enjoy his company? “I just know you have plenty of more pressing matters to attend to,” he said, with a little bit of a laugh he was afraid sounded awkward. “Commander and all that stuff. I’m just lying in bed here, no big deal.”

 

“Maybe I do,” Steve said. “But I’m staying right here. If SHIELD agents can’t handle something like this, then I’m not sure what the point of training them was in the first place.”

 

Tony supposed that made a certain amount of sense. Still. “I just don’t know why you’d want to hang around here,” he said. “It’s going to be boring, and like I said, you’ve got to have better things to do than sit here and watch me lie around.”

 

“Is it really so hard to understand?” Steve sighed. He pushed Tony back down again, laid his hand on his chest, gently, over the RT, through the blanket.

 

“No, I mean . . .” Tony shrugged. “Okay, maybe I just don’t get it,” he admitted.

 

“Rest a while,” Steve said. “Maybe it’ll make more sense later.”

 

“I doubt it,” Tony told him.

 

Steve smiled a little. “You could sleep on it,” he said.

 

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” Tony muttered.

 

“It might,” Steve said. That was the last he’d say about it for a while—he distracted Tony by asking about the capabilities of Bleeding Edge until the doctor came back to check Tony over again and fiddled with the IV. It was only sometime later, when he was really fuzzy and gray, almost asleep, that he realized that Steve had neatly sidestepped the question, and that the doctor had put something else into his IV, too—he would have caught it, he was sure, if he hadn’t already been so woozy from the other drugs. It was still frustrating.

 

“Hey,” he said, blearily. “You sedated me. That’s not fair, I didn’t ask to be sedated. You know I don’t like that.”

 

“It’ll help,” Steve said. “You can rest, and then you’ll feel better.”

 

“I don’t want it to help, I want to stay awake,” Tony said with determination, but he could already feel himself fading into sleep. He scowled. “You never told me why you wanted to stay so badly.”

 

Steve made an affectionate, exasperated face, then leaned forward, pressed a careful kiss to Tony’s forehead where he was lying back against the bed. “Because I care about you,” he said, softly. “Now go on, go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up, and we’ll go home.”

 

Tony wanted to protest, or say something about Steve calling him sweetheart—that was wrong, it was supposed to be the other way around, except no, it wasn’t, it wasn’t supposed to be like that, he wasn’t supposed to call Steve affectionate names like that, either, he didn’t have the right—but he was too tired, and too blurry, and then he was asleep.

 

\-----

 

After Tony fell asleep, Steve just sat there for a moment with him, resting one hand on his shoulder. He never thought he’d get used to seeing Tony like this, quiet and still in an infirmary cot, an IV taped into the back of his hand, his face still covered with blood they hadn’t cleaned up from the bloody nose he’d gotten in the suit. He looked pale, Steve thought, even under the blood, pale and bruised, his lips split and swollen and his skin mottled and patchy with bruises and burns, though he knew they were superficial at most, and smaller than normal, naked except for his underwear and covered with a few flimsy blankets. Steve hoped he wasn’t cold. He might be too doped up to shiver if he was—Steve wasn’t sure how that worked. He left his hand on Tony’s shoulder, just in case the contact could warm him up a little.

 

Tony would be all right—he knew that. The doctor had assured him he would be, and even if she hadn’t, he knew how tough Tony was. Better than he wanted to. Tony was plenty tough; he’d be fine. It was just—seeing him get hurt again, sacrificing himself, even on this small scale, and being helpless to prevent it or even to help . . . he’d heard Tony’s grunts and gasps of pain over the comm—heard what Nitro had said to him—and there had been nothing he could do, nothing at all, no point even trying to get onto the ground to join the fight, because the fight was already in the air. His hands clenched into fists just remembering. 

 

He’d never heard anything so ridiculously unfair in his life, and just the idea that anyone would accuse Tony of having planned what happened at Stamford made Steve grit his teeth and his vision haze with anger. Whatever had happened and whatever he’d thought of Tony, he’d never been so far gone as to believe something like that of him. Never.

 

But Tony had handled it, at whatever cost to himself, and here he was. And he was going to be fine, Steve reminded himself. Everything was going to be fine, thanks to Tony’s quick actions.

 

He’d been more afraid of what might happen with Nitro appearing again than he’d wanted to admit. Not just what he could do, though the kind of damage he could do while hopped up on mutant growth hormone in downtown Manhattan didn’t bear thinking about. But also what the reaction of the Avengers or any other superhero to seeing him in action again might be. He didn’t relish the thought of explaining why Logan had murdered one of their enemies in the middle of the day in full sight of the civilian population to top brass, and he worried what effect that—or just seeing Nitro again—might have on the rest of the team. He had a feeling Tony had been thinking the same thing, and that was why he had resorted to such measures to stop him. That right there was both why Steve wanted Tony on the team so badly, and why he was so terrified for him sometimes.

 

There was another reason he’d wanted the SHIELD agents to handle Nitro’s arrest and incarceration—Steve didn’t trust himself with him, either, not the man who’d killed so many innocent children and the young team of the New Warriors, or the man who’d just hurt Tony the way he had.

 

Tony made a sound and shifted in his sleep, and Steve patted his shoulder, touched his cheek soothingly, until he quieted again. He looked up to see the doctor looking at him and gave a bit of a sheepish smile and a shrug. He didn’t care if she realized how he felt about Tony, as long as she didn’t go spreading the information around, and he didn’t think she would. SHIELD doctors tended to see all kinds of overly affectionate behavior and keep it to themselves. Though Steve hardly thought the way he was acting was overly affectionate—he’d wanted to kiss Tony senseless, hold him close, after seeing him get blown up again and again like that, after seeing him fall into the water with his armor failing, but of course that wasn’t even close to appropriate behavior, not here, not now, and not when Tony was hurt and needed help and rest, not Steve clinging to him for nothing but his own comfort. This would have to do for now. 

 

At least he could watch him sleep.

 

He stayed there for a while. He wasn’t doing anything, so he might have been bored, but it was quite the opposite—just watching Tony sleep was somehow soothing; it was comforting, after all that had happened. Tony’s breathing was even, and at least, after the drugs, he didn’t seem to be in any pain. After a while, he took Tony’s hand and just sat there at the edge of the bed, running his thumb back and forth over Tony’s knuckles and trying to get himself to relax, without much success. He was overreacting, he knew, Tony had been hurt much worse than this and survived to tell the tale, but, well, Steve had never been . . . with him, like this, like he was now, at the time before. And after all the rest of it—they’d come so close to losing him, right after Steve had come back. This was too much like that.

 

Steve was tired of it, seeing Tony take the hit, take the fall, laid up in a hospital bed, battered and hurting.

 

After what felt like a surprisingly short time to Steve, the doctor came over again, checked Tony out, checked over the drugs in his IV, as well as his pulse and temperature. She talked to Steve briefly, said he could probably take him home in a few hours, when the dose of sedatives they’d given him wore off and he woke back up. A few SHIELD agents came in to report to him, a bit later, Tony still sleeping—they were busily constructing the null harness Tony had told them to look up, having found the specs, along with instructions on how to make it more powerful, in the databanks, which was good to hear. They were keeping Nitro under sedation until such time as it could be completed. Steve told them they were doing well and to carry on. They updated him on the Avengers, too, that a few of them had checked in about Tony, and then they’d headed back to the Tower, after doing some crowd control. Steve figured he could catch up with Bucky later, get his thoughts on the whole thing and the team’s performance. Someone obviously needed to get Tony home, anyway, and he figured that might as well be him. He was happy to do it. It was his job, after all, these days, not anyone else’s, and he wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.

 

He knew perfectly well that a lot of his protectiveness came from . . . everything he’d been thinking about these days. How badly Tony had been hurt during the conflict over the SHRA and afterward, the dreams Steve’d been having lately. Seeing Tony’s eyes hazy and dull with drugs hadn’t exactly made the memory of those dreams easier to banish, and neither had seeing him hurt, burned and bloodied. At least if Steve had been in the field with them, he’d have been able to try to protect Tony—as it was, he’d been helpless, impotent, reduced to listening over the comm and shouting at Tony to wait for backup, which he didn’t think Tony had even heard, let alone listened to. It might have been over the top, might be unnecessary, but . . . .

 

He sighed. Tony was so reckless with himself. What happened when that proved too much for him? He was only one man, mortal and fragile in all the ways that entailed. Didn’t Tony realize what that would do to Steve, what he meant to him? He supposed he didn’t. Not that he resented Tony for his heroism, or his bravery—it was who he was, and he loved that about him, he couldn’t have loved him the way he did without it. He just hoped Tony realized what it would mean to Steve, if he died. He worried about Tony, that way. Sometimes he wondered if Tony realized that he meant anything at all, to anyone, or how many people would mourn his loss. Or maybe he just thought it was worth it, to make the world a better place. Steve wasn’t sure.

 

He supposed he would have to talk to him, tell him these things. He really wasn’t great at talks like that, serious . . . relationship discussions, and all that, but he needed Tony to understand. He didn’t expect that it would make him less reckless, but it might, and he just . . . he wanted him to know.

 

He wanted him to know how much he mattered. To Steve, at least.

 

But that could wait, at least until they got back home. There was nothing he could do for now, except to keep an eye on him. And so he did, just watching Tony sleep, thinking, with some affection, about how grumpy he was going to be when he got up. It had to be a few hours, the doctor checking in on them every once in a while, before she said that the sedative should be wearing off soon, and gave Steve a good-sized collection of medication with detailed directions on what to do for Tony once they got home. Steve didn’t have much faith in his ability to get Tony to follow those directions, but he studiously committed the instructions to memory, all the same—he was going to do his best by Tony, whether he wanted him to or not.

 

Tony woke up slowly, with a series of groans and softer sounds that seemed to signal discomfort, and he frowned, his brow creasing as if in effort, before he opened his eyes. He looked confused at first, looked around as if trying to figure out where he was. “Steve?” he said, his voice hoarse. “What?”

 

“It’s me,” Steve said, moving to help Tony as he struggled to sit up, careful of the injured shoulder and the arm the doctor had placed in a sling before Tony had been sedated. “I’ve got you.”

 

“Ugh,” Tony said. “Hell. I feel like I got run over by a backhoe. Or wait.” He smiled at Steve a little, fuzzily. “Exploded, right?”

 

“Right,” Steve said, a little tightly, he couldn’t help it. He stilled Tony’s injured arm with a touch to his wrist when he seemed like he was about to move it. “Easy.” Tony frowned, looked down at the IV in his hand, and tugged it out. Steve let him this time, letting him look around, waiting for him to get his bearings.

 

“I’m naked,” Tony observed after a moment, and grinned at him a little more, looking at him from under his eyelashes.

 

“So you are,” Steve agreed. “I’ll find you some clothes. The ones you were wearing are a little worse for wear.”

 

“Yeah, I guess running around the streets like this would be a little inappropriate,” Tony said, casting a glance down at himself.

 

“Just a little,” Steve said. “No, you sit there.” He pushed Tony back down on the bed. “I’ll be right back with something.” He could see Tony put his hand to his head as soon as Steve’s back was turned, wobbling a little, but at least he stayed on the bed. Steve frowned, but just went off to talk to the doctor about some clothes. She pointed him to where the spare uniforms were kept. Steve figured that was the best they could do, and went off to fetch one, along with a warm wet cloth, to get some of the blood off Tony’s face. Tony smiled wryly at the sight of the uniforms, said something about that being a blast from the past he hadn’t expected to be getting himself into again, but he put it on, with some of Steve’s help in zipping it up. “Do you remember?” Steve asked curiously, pulling it up in the back and zipping it up the rest of the way, straightening the collar with his fingers against the back of Tony’s neck, then circling back around to steady him and slip his arm back into the sling. Tony scowled at him for it, but he accepted the help.

 

“No,” he said. He tugged on the front of it a little, then the collar, as if uncomfortable. “But I know I spent some quality time in one of these when I was Director. I’ve even seen some of the pictures.”

 

“Gotcha,” Steve said. He checked one of the bandages just above Tony’s eye, then pushed him back on the bed a little. “Close your eyes,” he said, and picked up the cloth, dabbing slightly at the blood on Tony’s face, that had dried in his beard. Tony scowled, kept one eye open, despite the directions Steve had given him. “Tony,” Steve said, softly.

 

“You don’t need to do that,” Tony said. His voice sounded a little rough.

 

“I want to,” Steve said. “Besides, then you’ll look less like you had a bloody nose.”

 

“But I did have one,” Tony said, and then frowned. “Didn’t I?”

 

Steve took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “You did. It’s all over you.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said, “okay,” but at least he sat a little more still, and let Steve finish with his face, at least getting the worst of the blood off. He tried to scrub at it where it had dried around his nose, but it was hard to get it all off, especially here. Eventually he folded the towel, set it aside, figuring they could get the last vestiges off later, since he was mostly clean, and you couldn’t really see it anymore, anyway. He checked Tony’s bandages again, one last time, before he gave in and helped him to his feet. Tony pushed his hand away, but Steve just slid his arm around his waist. He wasn’t about to take no for an answer on this.

 

“I could fly us back,” Tony offered.

 

“Not when you’re still doped up on morphine you won’t,” Steve said. “We’ll borrow one of the cars. C’mon.”

 

“You just want an excuse to fly one of those things,” Tony said, but he went along with Steve, out of the infirmary, willingly enough.

 

“Can you blame me?” Steve asked.

 

Tony chuckled. “Guess not,” he said. “Thanks, Doctor,” he added on the way out.

 

“Just don’t come back too soon,” she said, giving them a bit of a wave from where she sat at her desk. Going through paperwork, it looked like. Steve felt a wave of sympathy. “And get checked out by your GP in a few days, all right?”

 

“Will do,” Tony said, cheerfully enough that Steve made a mental note to make sure it really happened, though to be honest, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure if Tony saw a general practitioner regularly. Tony was quiet on the way to the car, though, and got in without much trouble, though he gave Steve another bemused frown as he helped him into the seat, then he leaned his head back against the rest and closed his eyes. Steve did his best to keep the ride easy, level and smooth, and didn’t bother him on the way back. This might be the only chance Tony really gave himself to rest, and he didn’t want to interrupt that.

 

Once they landed, they were quickly met by the others. Logan immediately demanded to know what Tony had been doing, that Nitro was his because he would have healed already anyway, and kept grumbling about the villain’s return, asking questions about where and how they were holding Nitro on the helicarrier, which Steve tried to avoid, while Jessica and Bucky turned to ask Tony if he was okay. Tony shrugged off their concern, but Steve smiled a little to see it. Clint just knocked Tony on his good shoulder and asked him what the hell he was thinking. There were a few comments on the SHIELD uniform Tony was wearing, too. 

 

Eventually, Steve shooed the others away, and followed Tony inside. Tony headed to his room first, where he glared Steve away from going in to help him with his clothes. Steve shrugged, smiled a little, and let him go. Tony came out sometime later in a shapeless sweater and exercise pants, his face looking pink and raw, freshly scrubbed clean and his beard damp, and made a beeline for the sofa, immediately dug out his tablet and a laptop, and gave Steve another look when he thought about suggesting he just take a break. Steve held up his hands in surrender and left Tony typing one handed as he went looking for Jarvis. At least he wasn’t pulling his arm out of the sling yet.

 

Jarvis was in the kitchen, but he immediately got up as Steve came in. “Ah, yes, Master Rogers?” he said.

 

Steve smiled at him. He was glad that the coolness between them had faded. In fact, Jarvis was smiling warmly at him now, though Steve didn’t quite have the courage to come right out and ask him if he knew what was going on between him and Tony. (Though he suspected that he did.) He let him know what had happened, and that Tony was hurt, but that he was going to do his best to take care of him, and that the doctor had said there was no real need to worry. He gave him the directions the doctor had given him in terms of what Tony needed, and assured him again that everything would be all right.

 

“Thank you for alerting me to the situation,” Jarvis said, still frowning, though Steve thought it was simply over Tony being hurt once again. “I’ll do my best to look after Master Tony.”

 

“I know it’s not always easy to do,” Steve said. “I’ll do my best, myself.”

 

Jarvis smiled a bit. “I’m sure you will,” he said.

 

Steve felt himself flush a bit. He supposed that answered the question of whether or not Jarvis knew what was going on between them—there had been something in Jarvis’s tone that left him in no doubt whatsoever. “I will do my best for him,” he said, and he meant more than just looking after his injuries, superficial as they were. “I promise.”

 

“As I said, I’m sure that you will,” Jarvis said calmly. “In fact, I rely upon it.” His gaze sharpened, turned more serious. “But do be careful with him, Master Rogers. I’m sure you realize that he cares deeply for you. Master Tony’s heart is resilient, but you have the ability to do a great deal of damage in a way few others could.”

 

”I’m not going to do anything to hurt him,” Steve said.

 

“I never thought for a moment that you intend as much,” Jarvis said. “But you might very well do it, all the same. You have, in the past, many times that he may or may not have let on. Please keep that in mind. I know we both care for Master Tony.”

 

“I do,” Steve said. “I promise, I do. I want to be . . . I want to be so good for him. Good to him. I’ll do my best. Always. I swear.”

 

“That’s all I can ask,” Jarvis said. He seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded, drew himself up to his full height, his shoulders square. “Thank you, Master Rogers. I trust you, and your integrity, and I do think you will be good for him.” He smiled, just a bit. “At the very least, you know how stubborn he is.”

 

Steve smiled at that. “I do,” he agreed. “There is that. I’ll get back to him.” He swallowed, looked at the old butler seriously. “Thank you, Jarvis. I’ll do my best to live up to your trust.”

 

“I have every faith that you will,” Jarvis said. “Now go, look after Master Tony. And here.” He handed Steve a bowl of sliced cheese and fruit. “See if you can get him to eat any of this, if you would,” he said.

 

“I will,” Steve said, taking the bowl. “Thanks.” He smiled at Jarvis again. “Thanks,” he said, another time, and it was for more than just the bowl of snacks.

 

He headed back upstairs. Tony was still typing away, though he was rubbing the back of his neck a bit. Steve wondered how badly his head was hurting. He stood there in the doorway and just watched him for a moment, before he came in and sat down beside him.

 

“Back already?” Tony asked. “What, you’re not tired of me yet?”

 

“I was going to watch the news,” Steve told him. “You just happen to be in here.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. It was clear he didn’t believe that for a second. That was fine. Steve didn’t really want him to actually believe it; it was just his excuse.

 

“I brought some snacks,” Steve said, and set the bowl between them, turning the television on with the remote, flipping through the channels until he got to one of the networks that was covering Nitro’s attack. Tony looked up, but it was just for a second before he returned his attention to his laptop. Steve settled in beside him, focusing on the TV.

 

After some time had gone by, Steve lifted his hand, rested it on the back of Tony’s neck, and began to rub a little, watching out of the corner of his eye for Tony to wince, or for any other sign of pain. Tony tensed at first, his attention coming up, but a moment later he relaxed again, giving a slight sigh, then seemed to get distracted by something the reporter on TV was saying. Tony said something snarky about the TV coverage, continued on in that vein for a while, in between continuing to work, but eventually he started eating the fruit and cheese almost absently, and Steve smiled to himself and kept rubbing the back of his neck. 

 

They stayed there like that for a while. Tony stayed in a snappy, irritable mood that might have generously called been grumpy and ungenerously called sullen, but Steve didn’t mind. He figured it just meant that Tony was all right, if he could be annoyed with Steve’s admitted hovering. A few of the others were in and out, and they seemed to lose patience with Tony’s mood before too long, but Steve didn’t mind it—though he thought it might have run through his patience before they’d gotten together, eventually, that, and everything that had happened that day, felt like it changed things. It was hard to hold a little irritation against Tony, after the day he’d had.

 

Eventually, Tony’s typing slowed down, just a touch, but it was still enough to get Steve’s attention, especially when Tony hid a yawn against his own shoulder. Steve pretended not to notice, though he filed both details away in the back of his head. He let things go a while longer, just moved a little closer and slid his arm around Tony’s shoulders. Tony sighed a little, tensed under that encircling arm, then relaxed, even further than before. Steve just waited, waited until Tony’s eyes looked heavy and his typing had wound down even more to nudge him lightly and ask if he wanted to go up to bed.

 

“Hmm?” Tony asked, lifting his head and looking surprised. “Bed? But—”

 

“But you’re hurt, and this isn’t a good night for you to stay up until four in the morning working,” Steve said in his most quelling tone.

 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Tony said quietly. His eyes had gone very big, Steve suddenly noticed, startlingly so, with how blue and pale they were in his washed-out face, against their frame of dark, heavy eyelashes. He looked a little, well, dazed. Steve thought shell-shocked, and then wasn’t sure where that had come from, because that surely wasn’t appropriate for the situation.

 

“Well, whichever,” Steve told him. “Bed.”

 

“If you insist,” Tony said, with a certain warmth to it that made Steve blush, figuring he was teasing. They headed up to Tony’s room, where Steve managed to out-stubborn Tony into taking his pain meds and antibiotics and getting into pajamas. He himself borrowed a robe and boxers from Tony. Tony put his good arm around him as he was pulling the robe on, leaned in to kiss him—his mouth tasted like toothpaste. Steve kissed him back, running one hand through his hair, then pushed him back into the bed and finished tying the robe around his waist.

 

“Go to sleep,” he said, smiling at him. “You’re not in any condition to let this heat up.”

 

Tony hesitated, then nodded, lying back, slowly, since he had to lower himself back onto one elbow first, then down. “You’re . . .” he blinked at Steve as he sat down on the bed himself. “You’re going to stay here?” he asked, sounding a little confused.

 

“Unless you don’t want me to,” Steve said, honestly. “I’d like to.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and then Tony said, “Okay.”

 

Steve turned toward him. He brushed the heavy dark locks of hair back off his forehead, then let his hand just rest over the crown of his head for a moment, combing through his hair with his fingers and settling his hand there, holding steady. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

 

“I’m fine,” Tony said immediately, with an awkward smile.

 

“Sure you are,” Steve said, highly dubious, but he didn’t push, just moved his hand down and ran his thumb along Tony’s jaw. Tony trembled a little, and squeezed his eyes shut, but then he turned his face toward Steve’s hand. Steve opened his fingers, let his palm curve around Tony’s jaw, against his cheek. Tony was breathing unsteadily. Steve hoped he was all right. “You take it easy,” he said, and he saw Tony bite at his bottom lip.

 

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I will.”

 

“I mean it,” Steve said. “I know . . . I know you’ve been hurt a lot worse than this, and I know you can handle it, but . . . just take it easy, okay?”

 

Tony nodded, and his shoulders were starting to hunch up uncomfortably, so Steve just tousled his hair and drew his hand away. After another moment, Tony took in an unsteady breath and opened his eyes again.

 

Steve waited until his eyes were open, then leaned over and kissed him good night. “I’m lucky to have you,” he told Tony—he was saving any serious talks for later, when Tony was feeling better, but he couldn’t help it. He had to say something.

 

Tony’s face twisted up a little, and Steve thought he might have flushed as he quickly looked away. “I. Uh. Yeah. Same goes for me and you,” he said. “I . . . I know how lucky I am.” He swallowed, thickly.

 

Steve touched his cheek, then his shoulder, and kissed his forehead. “Go to sleep,” he said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

 

“I’ll feel like crap,” Tony said frankly. “Bruises are always worse the second day.”

 

Steve had to smile at that. It was true, he knew that. “You should still sleep,” he said.

 

“Are you going for a second job as a nurse?” Tony asked, a little grumpily, then sighed. “Okay, fine. Good night.” He smiled at Steve a little, all the same, before lying back against the blankets, as if to soften what he’d said. Steve smiled back, watched Tony shift around, as if uncomfortable, for a few moments, and then moved in toward him. He slid his arm around Tony’s shoulders, and after a moment of breathing unsteadily, Tony leaned in a little, let his body rest against Steve’s, his head settling against Steve’s shoulder. His hip brushed Steve’s, and Steve could feel the quick, unsteady rasp of his breathing, the thrumming thud of his heart. He moved his other hand up, moved it through Tony’s hair, as soothingly as he could, up over the top of his head and back down, and he could feel it as Tony started to relax, as his body went limp against Steve’s, the total bonelessness of pure exhaustion.

 

It didn’t take long before he was asleep. Steve stayed where he was, just holding him, stroking his hair slowly. He could see just a bit of his face, in profile where it was tucked in against his shoulder, and he could see the bruises on his jaw, over his forehead, the swollen look of his mouth. He knew the injuries weren’t that serious, but Tony looked so badly battered lying limply against him that it made something in his chest ache. At least the way he was lying had his weight entirely off his bad shoulder. Still, Steve figured he could stand to be a little more comfortable. He rolled onto his back, pulled Tony after him, so he was tucked into his side in a position that probably wouldn’t strain his ribs, either, and pulled the blankets up high around them. He laid his head down against the pillow and held Tony close, but not too tight, closing his own eyes, and listened to the sound of Tony’s breathing, letting himself relax under how warm he felt. They were both safe. Everything was good, for another night. He hadn’t lost him. He splayed his hand over his back, ran the backs of his fingers lightly against Tony’s spine, through the fabric of the pajamas he was wearing, and rested his cheek on his hair.

 

\------

 

Tony usually woke in stages, and he was all too familiar with the feeling that he really didn’t want to wake up all the way. By this point it was tedious, almost cliche. And here it was, all over again—what fun. He hurt, all over, a dull aching constant throb of pain, and he felt stiff, like his body was thick with it. His head was thick and swollen and throbbing, and he didn’t relish opening his eyes. But that was how it went. Time to face the music. He pried his eyes open unwillingly and was immediately struck by how bright it was, sunlight streaming in through the windows he hadn’t bothered to darken before he went to bed, since he’d set his alarm for . . . eight a.m. What the hell? It sure wasn’t eight a.m. now. 

 

He must have slept through his alarm. Great. That was just perfect. A great start to the day.

 

Tony groaned, tried to blink the bleary grit out of his eyes as he sat up. He brought one hand up, ran it over his face by instinct, and immediately regretted it as his face flared into much brighter, more demanding blooms of pain. He caught his breath despite himself, swallowing the groan that wanted to escape.

 

Okay, lesson learned there. He controlled the instinct to run a hand back through his hair and instead pushed himself to his feet, scowling at how badly he wobbled once he got there. His head still felt thick, almost sticky, slow and woozy, and he recognized the acridly cloying taste of drugs in the back of his throat. Obviously, though, they weren’t still in effect, if the pain sparking all through him was any indication. Which was just perfect. All of the dizzy mental clog of narcotics but all the pain to boot. And people wondered why he didn’t like drugs. 

 

Though of course there were the . . . other reasons.

 

Tony swallowed and headed for the bathroom, his eyes still only half-open—he just couldn’t force himself any more awake. Everything still seemed fuzzy and the light was too bright, stabbing into his eyes and making them water so that the world around him seemed to blur and sparkle.

 

Long before he’d managed to shuffle all the way across his bedroom (why was his bedroom so big again?), the door opened. Tony almost groaned aloud, because the last thing he wanted right now was to see anyone—but he turned toward the door anyway, doing his best to square his shoulders and lift his chin and look a little bit more alive.

 

It was a pretty big shock to see Steve there. He’d expected Jarvis, if anyone, maybe after Pepper had called him to figure out why Tony hadn’t been in his morning conference call. He couldn’t imagine who else would be trying to find him this early, at least, without the use of an Avengers alert. And he’d never—Steve didn’t—he wasn’t there in the morning. He never had been. Not once. He always got up before—before Tony did. And left. Early in the morning. Tony never saw him, and . . . why would he, because they . . . well, yeah. Tony had to swallow at that. 

 

He’d never wondered why Steve had left so early.

 

So of course the first time he did come back, Tony would have to look like hell. Because that was how life was. Because he was sure he looked like hell right about now—he didn’t have any illusions about that, not charmingly tousled, not even endearingly bleary-eyed, just straight up, flat out like hell. He still wasn’t totally clear on all the details about the night before and how he’d ended up in this state, all beat to shit, but figured things would fall into place if he gave it a while for his brain to pull the memory to the surface.

 

“Hey,” Steve said with a little smile, closing the door behind him. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Um,” Tony managed. Steve seemed to take that as an answer, though; he nodded as if it meant something, then crossed the room and took Tony’s chin very gently in his hand, turning it to the side. Tony felt himself swallow, hard, especially as Steve’s thumb swept, very gently, down over the side of his jaw. His face went hot.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, because damn it, he was so gross, and scruffy, unshaven, and—this was the last state he’d wanted Steve to see him in. Even worse than seeing him fresh off the battlefield, because Steve had seen that a million times, but Tony unshaven and achey and still half-drunk on pain meds . . . no one wanted to see that, God. Especially not Steve, and—

 

He forced his eyes open, only to meet Steve’s concerned blue eyes, piercing and sincere, and have to look away again.

 

“Looks pretty rough,” Steve said, and his voice was pure concern, but all Tony could think about was yeah, he bet he did look pretty rough.

 

“Yeah,” he said, and he knew it sounded short, but he couldn’t help it. He was remembering now, the night before, and how Steve had just stayed with him, had—he’d just held him all night. Even though Tony hadn’t been up to much of anything—even though Tony had been a real pain in the ass, to be honest, and . . . . He had to swallow again. He felt a little dizzy. “It’ll heal,” he said. 

 

God, he’d been so sure that Steve had wanted sex last night, because . . . because why else would he come to bed with him, and he hadn’t wanted to think about how much that had confused him, because Steve had been so solicitous about his being hurt before, up until that point, and surely he could tell that Tony wasn’t up to it that night, but then it hadn’t been like that at all, Steve hadn’t even gone along when Tony tried to give him what he’d thought he wanted, even though he’d given it his best shot, because this was Steve, and if Steve wanted sex Tony was going to do his level best to give it to him even if it hurt to think he wanted it right then when Tony hurt like that but then Steve had just pulled him into bed and . . . just put his arms around him, and Tony didn’t even know what to do with that. How to even start.

 

He’d just held him. All night. That was all.

 

When he looked up at Steve again he felt dizzy, even dizzier than before, and overwhelmed, and a lot . . . a lot grateful. Pathetically so, and there was a lump in his throat, and he didn’t know if he’d ever felt so unbearable in his life. He looked awful, he was barely awake, he was bruised to hell, and here he was getting emotional all over Steve, and God, he was an embarrassment to himself right now. “I gotta shower,” he managed to get out, and tried to pull away.

 

“Hey,” Steve said. “Come back here, fella.” He put one hand on Tony’s shoulder and drew him back in. Tony knew he must have tensed up, because he felt it in his muscles, it made him wince. Steve brushed his hand down his neck, curled it around his jaw, under his ear, his fingers moving back into his hair, and moved in, letting his forehead rest very lightly against Tony’s. “No need to run off,” he said in a lower, softer voice.

 

Tony had to swallow, again. He felt very hot, in the face, and a little like he was so dizzy the world was starting to slide sideways, despite the way that Steve’s hand under his ear, his forehead against his, anchored him. Steve’s breath was warm, and he could feel the heat of his own breath puffing over Steve’s lips. Tony was panting, and he wondered if Steve could tell how close he was to hyperventilating. Steve was going to see how he felt, he knew it, he was going to see his feelings for him like he was skywriting them in neon and realize how pathetic Tony was right now in this moment and if this pushed him over the edge he—he just really needed not to be standing here right now, he . . . needed Steve to let him go, but he couldn’t push him away. He couldn’t.

 

“Shh,” Steve said. “Hey.” He cupped his hand under Tony’s ear a little more, drew him closer, and then kissed him, lightly, a very gentle brush of his lips over Tony’s. Tony froze, swallowed and froze and—he knew he should kiss back, he knew it, but then Steve was drawing back, moving away. “Just wanted a kiss,” he said with a rueful smile.

 

“You could have let me brush my teeth,” Tony managed after a second. After he remembered how to breathe. After he stopped feeling like he was about to faint.

 

“Aw, I don’t mind about that,” Steve said. “You look kind of good like this. All scruffy.”

 

Tony gaped at him. “I look awful,” he said flatly.

 

“Nah, you couldn’t,” Steve said, with bizarre conviction. His eyes were so blue and fond and utterly sincere, like he honestly did think Tony looked great like this. He kissed Tony again, and Tony got the strong impression this time he was proving a point.

 

“And here I thought you had perfect vision,” Tony said, still baffled, knowing he was floundering a little but unable to stop it.

 

Steve laughed. “You know what they say,” he said, and Tony had no idea what he was talking about, before he ruffled Tony’s hair and kissed his forehead, gently. “Okay, take your shower, mister,” he said. He even got one hand under Tony’s elbow on the uninjured side and supported him as he turned around.

 

“I’m not that pathetic,” Tony muttered. He just couldn’t help it. All of a sudden it was too much. Too much kindness, and enough gentleness in his direction to put his teeth on edge. Steve was being too good to him.

 

He couldn’t take it.

 

“I never thought you were,” Steve said. His voice sounded sincere, and faintly surprised, and Tony knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but he couldn’t seem to help the way those words just made the crawling shame, the awful urge to snap at him, just to get away, to lash out to protect himself, to be alone, even more overwhelmingly, crawlingly strong. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried. It was too much. It was just too much.

 

“Sure,” Tony said, and he didn’t mean that to sound as sarcastic and disbelieving as it did, he really didn’t. “Right.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said, a little disappointed, but mostly chiding, and he touched his back, just very gently. “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

 

Tony loved it when Steve touched him. He did. But he thought he would rather have a hot poker in his back than that sweetly gentle touch right now. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, managing to make himself meet Steve’s eyes rather than just fleeing for the bathroom like a coward.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, sounding a little confused.

 

His obligations met, Tony made for the bathroom as fast as he could. Which wasn’t very fast, if he didn’t want to have to limp or shuffle. He had to keep his stride level and slow.

 

He didn’t look back, all the same, just kept on going, kept his stride even.

 

At least the time in the shower cleared his head a little, so that by the time he got out, he could see clearly again, and his head ached a little less. He hurt more all over, but it was a relief to have his head starting to clear. He shaved and brushed his teeth just in case Steve tried to kiss him again and by the time he was done with it, deodorant, cologne, and all, he felt almost human, even if he ran out of energy around the time he was taping his various bandages back on and his whole body still ached. He’d gotten used to handling that kind of thing, over the years; that wasn’t too much for him to handle by a long shot.

 

He wondered if Steve would have been scared off by the time he got out there again.

 

At least after Steve seeing him like this it was probably going to be one hell of a lot easier to break this off. The thought was more depressing than it probably should have been, and Tony frowned at himself, shook his head at himself in the mirror.

 

He was being an idiot. Wasn’t he supposed to be finding a way to break this off, anyway? Anything that made that easier was a good thing. He needed to remind himself of that.

 

But no, Steve was out there in the bedroom, waiting for him, Tony found as soon as he left the bathroom. That was Steve, of course. Semper fi, Tony thought, even though Steve would have given him a hell of a glare for that and said he wasn’t a Marine.

 

Tony liked having him around, so much, and he was happy to see him, he was, usually, but seeing him there he felt a wave of exhaustion so intense he almost felt his knees go out under it. He had to put his back against the wall and take a few deep breaths, and of course Steve immediately got to his feet and said his name.

 

“I’m fine,” he said, and God, he was snapping at him, snapping at Steve, now, wow, Stark, fantastic job. But he couldn’t help it. “I need a second. Leave me alone.”

 

“Sure,” Steve said immediately. He retreated, sat back down. Tony put his face in his hands, tried to breathe evenly, and not to jar any of his bruises too much, even as he pushed his fingers back into his hair, dug them in against his scalp. “I can go,” Steve said, after a moment, questioningly, and Tony’s breath seized up.

 

“No, no!” he said, and damn it, this was awful, now he sounded even more panicky.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, though, and he sounded almost relieved, and not pitying or anything else awful, at least there was that.

 

It took a second before Tony could breathe again, but when he could, he lowered his hands, squared his shoulders. “Sorry,” he said, honestly, feeling shame well up in him again at that whole ridiculous little display. “I’m really . . . I . . . .”

 

“It’s fine,” Steve said immediately. “It’s fine. I came up to try and help, not make things miserable for you.”

 

“You’re not,” Tony said, but he could feel how weak that sounded. “I just . . .” he tried to smile, make a joke of it, “you saw how I looked before a shower and a shave, and I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

 

“I think you looked just great,” Steve said, almost shyly, which was just . . . what, but then he smiled a little and said, “but yeah, I told you, I know how you get before your coffee.”

 

Tony was so grateful for the out he could have almost cried. Not quite, of course, he had better control than that, at least. But almost. Far closer than he’d have liked, that was for sure. “Yeah,” he said, still trying to smile. “It’s not pretty.”

 

“You sure you don’t want me to give you some space for a while?” Steve asked.

 

“I . . .” Tony swallowed, and then to his own surprise found himself shaking his head. “It was really good of you to come and check on me,” he offered.

 

“Well, hey, that’s what you do,” Steve said. “For your, you know.” He was blushing, Tony realized with some wonder, “For your fella. Like I said. But you don’t . . . I mean, I’m not going to be angry with you if you need some space.”

 

“I’m grateful,” Tony started again.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, and he sounded, looked, very serious now. “Don’t do things for me just because you’re grateful.”

 

Tony could feel his shoulders hunching in again, the heat in his face, and forced himself not to show it. “I’m not,” he said, “I’m just saying. You should know.”

 

Steve smiled, and that uncomfortably serious moment dissipated, thankfully. “Okay,” he said. “Want me to go get you some coffee?”

 

“I’d love that,” Tony said, with a sudden wave of grateful relief for the offer of a few minutes to collect himself, to get himself together, without having to tell Steve to go flat out. When he didn’t want to lose what little time he might ever get with him like this. “Thank you.”

 

“All right,” Steve said, still smiling. “See you soon.” He got up and headed out.

 

Tony sagged against the wall once he was gone. He turned his head to rest his face against the clean cool surface of the wall and just stayed like that for he didn’t know how long. It was a while before he even wanted to face his thoughts again, or how he’d just been acting.

 

Finally he got himself to stand up, recheck and re-apply his bandages (because he had a feeling Steve was going to check them once he came back), and then start putting his clothes on, forced himself to get moving. He was fumbling with his shirt when Steve came back in. The buttons were giving him trouble, which was humiliating, but was pretty much par for the course that morning.

 

“I’m back,” Steve said, closing the door behind him, then putting the cup of coffee on the nightstand. He hesitated a moment, then stepped forward, just a little, and said, “Can I—uh—” He nodded at Tony’s shirt.

 

His skin wasn’t crawling at the very thought of being touched anymore, so Tony just sighed. “Sure,” he said, and let his hands drop, giving in. “Knock yourself out.”

 

“I don’t have to,” Steve said, reaching for Tony’s bottom button.

 

Tony shrugged.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Steve said.

 

“It wasn’t you,” Tony said softly.

 

“It sure was,” Steve said, with enough good humor that at least Tony didn’t feel like complete shit. Sure enough, he checked the bandages over Tony’s ribs with his fingers before he did up the buttons, but Tony had relaxed enough that it actually felt good now, comforting enough to make his stomach twist and turn over. Steve leaned in a little, and Tony looked up at him, questioning. “I’d like to kiss you,” Steve said.

 

“I like kissing,” Tony said, still low, and closed his eyes. Steve’s lips were gentle and soft on his when they came, but he pulled him into the kiss with that slow warmth, and before he knew it Tony’s lips were parted and Steve’s tongue was gentle over his bottom lip and he was incredibly glad he’d brushed his teeth. After Steve was done with his buttons, which he managed without ever pulling away from Tony’s mouth, his hand came up and sank into Tony’s hair. Tony’s good arm ended up around his neck as they traded kisses back and forth, and Tony found himself leaning into it, started to pursue it with a little more vigor, a little more heat. He felt mussed and tousled and breathless and much more alive than he had before by the time Steve pulled away from him. “Oh,” Tony said, and laughed a little, surprised by that, by how much better he actually felt.

 

The smile on Steve’s face surprised him, too. “That’s better,” Steve said, smiling slightly bashfully. “I like to see you smile.” He flushed a little. “Not that you have to smile for me, but . . . God, you know what I mean.”

 

“You’re trying to get me all flustered,” Tony said, and honestly, at this point he thought it just might be true. He sure wasn’t clear on what Steve was up to today.

 

“I swear I’m not,” Steve said with a little bit of a laugh. “It’s true, though. Don’t see it enough.” He looked faintly embarrassed by himself again.

 

“You can see it any time,” Tony said, and it was true. He would have smiled for Steve no matter what. He smiled, just to show him.

 

“I won’t hold you to that,” Steve said, with a soft sort of look at him. “But I have to admit that it brightens my day.” He was so pink in the cheeks now that Tony couldn’t help it; he touched Steve’s cheek with the backs of his fingers just to feel the honest heat of that blush. “Oh, hell,” Steve said, and flushed even darker, “I’m blushing, aren’t I?”

 

Tony was really smiling now. He felt a little loopy and out of it, lightheaded in a good way, without the use of any drugs. “You are,” he said.

 

Steve was grinning. He snapped his fingers and said, “Damn it, I knew it,” and Tony couldn’t help it, he snorted a laugh, and then Steve’s arms slid around him and they were both really laughing.

 

“Sorry, but you were,” Tony said, snorting back laughter.

 

“I know, I know, I always blush,” Steve said. “I can’t help it. Drives me crazy.”

 

“I don’t know, I like it,” Tony said.

 

“Oh, well, you like it,” Steve said, but his eyes were warm, dancing. “I guess I’d better learn to blush on command.”

 

“You’re pretty much already there,” Tony said, teasingly.

 

“You’re not supposed to call me on it,” Steve laughed, still very pink in the face.

 

“Ah, my mistake,” Tony said. He kissed Steve on the cheek anyway, then froze, remembering that he was supposed to be observing some kind of boundary, that this wasn’t like a real relationship, but Steve just laughed and curled his hand gently against Tony’s face, kissing his cheek in response. Tony felt his own face starting to heat up and hoped Steve didn’t notice, but he couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through him.

 

Steve didn’t mention it, but his arm did get stronger, more supportive, at Tony’s back. “You should eat some breakfast,” he said.

 

“Oh,” Tony said. “My coffee!” He looked around for it, only for Steve to reach for it on the nightstand and hand it to him.

 

“Sorry,” he said. “It might be a little cold by now.”

 

“That’s fine,” Tony assured him, taking it and burying his face in it gratefully. “Mmm,” he said, taking a deep swallow. He could see Steve smile a little, but he didn’t care. Steve didn’t get the coffee thing. That was fine. More for Tony.

 

Steve let him have his moment with the coffee, until he was pretty much done, and then he put his hands on his waist again, gently. “So,” he prompted. “Breakfast?”

 

Tony made a face at him. He should have known Steve wouldn’t give up on it so easily. “Ugh,” he said, knowing how eloquent that was. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

“C’mon, Tony, you should eat something,” Steve said, so earnestly it almost gave Tony hives, except that . . . well, Steve was being patient with him, and things had been so good, the last few minutes, that it was hard to be annoyed. He still looked at him suspiciously.

 

“Maybe some toast,” he allowed finally, and it was honestly worth it, for the smile Steve gave him. Tony sighed a little, just at himself for being so easy that that smile had already filled him with a warm glow that easily made up for giving in. That wasn’t a good sign, and considering that he wasn’t going to have this for much longer, it was more than a little pathetic. 

 

The same stupid feeling drove him to let Steve get him to put the sling back on (and he had to admit that it did make the drag on his shoulder less painful), and nudge him along down to the kitchen, and there was Jarvis. Probably just waiting for Tony to enter his domain so he could pounce on him and force-feed him eggs and bacon. He could only stand letting both Jarvis and Steve fuss over him at the same time for a few minutes before he started shrugging it off and ducking away, and he almost took his breakfast into his office with him before Steve eased off, and the oppressive concern got a little less intense. 

 

It was pretty nice after that, actually, a lot like eating breakfast in the mansion years ago. Just simple, and easy, and warm, with Steve and Jarvis around. It struck Tony when he was halfway through his eggs that he felt . . . well, he felt safe. It was warm in the kitchen, and the morning light was bright but had finally stopped hurting his eyes. Steve was sitting there across from him, and Jarvis was washing dishes, and sometimes Steve’s knee would brush his and Tony still couldn’t help but shiver when that happened. 

 

Steve got up to take his plate to the counter and exchanged a few pleasantries with Jarvis, and he let his hand rest on Tony’s shoulder on the way back, and it felt so good Tony tried not to dwell on it. If he did he’d miss it too much when it was gone.

 

“God,” he said, almost done with his breakfast, when it hit him, “damn it, I’m so beyond late.” He glared at Steve a little, for making him forget, for distracting him so completely and effectively, and rubbed at his forehead.

 

Steve caught at his hand. “Don’t do that,” he said, “you’ll hurt yourself.”

 

“Believe me, it already hurts,” Tony informed him, frustrated. He wasn’t five years old.

 

“Still,” Steve said stubbornly. Tony could almost hear the no need to get snippy, Tony, in his voice. Or maybe he was just imagining that. He might just be, considering his mood. “And you’re not late for anything,” Steve continued. “I called Ms. Potts already and told her you were hurt.”

 

Tony could only wonder what Pepper had made of that. He sighed. “I want to be mad at you for that,” he said.

 

Steve’s jaw squared, and he raised his chin, like he was preparing for Tony’s anger. “That’s fair,” he said.

 

Tony scowled. “Well, I’m not,” he said. And it was true. He was more relieved than anything, obnoxious as that was. “So don’t worry about it. I should probably thank you.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Steve said, smiling a little. “Don’t strain yourself.” His eyes danced just a little at that.

 

“You snarky bastard,” Tony said. “Very funny. Haha.”

 

Steve snickered. He did, Tony heard it. “You just need to take it easy for a few days,” he said, though, and he was all sincerity when he did. “I’m not asking you not to work, just to let yourself heal up a little.”

 

“Promise not to lecture and we’ll see what happens,” Tony said.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, frowning.

 

“What,” Tony said, “you can’t do that?”

 

Steve looked sheepish now. “Well,” he said, and looked down, his cheeks flushing slightly.

 

Tony relented. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “How’s that?”

 

“It’s better than nothing,” Steve said, but he didn’t look completely happy about it.

 

Which probably meant it was a good compromise, as the old adage went. Neither of them was totally thrilled.

 

And well, as it turned out, Steve wasn’t actually that bad about it. He must have been doing his best, and . . . it was hard to describe how grateful Tony was to him for that, how warm it made him feel that Steve was clearly and obviously swallowing lectures even as he looked at him. It was . . . it was surprisingly sweet. After food, he did hand Tony his meds and stare at him until he finally gave in and took them, but then they just ended up in Tony’s workshop with Tony working on the necessary repairs to the armor, and Steve didn’t harass him too much about anything, even when he took off the sling for a while to work on the badly damaged shoulder joint, though he saw him swallowing lectures again, subsiding back into his chair. Bleeding Edge did repair itself, but he'd gotten himself fried pretty good, and he wasn’t going to go out in it again before he gave it a check or two. Steve just quietly sat around—he was working on what Tony suspected was his report on the last day’s incident to start, then went upstairs and brought down what looked like a mountain of paperwork. He looked at it and sighed, then sat down again. Tony couldn’t help but give him a sympathetic smile, and Steve just shrugged ruefully, with a wry curve to his mouth, and started at the top.

 

Tony looked down at his work. This was nice. He tried to fix it in his memory, how it felt. He wanted to remember this later. After . . . after whatever happened. After he didn’t get to have this anymore, when he told Steve the truth. He wanted to remember this, just the quiet togetherness of it. How good it had felt, how easy and natural. It had always been like this with Steve, when they weren’t fighting, and sometimes even then. Natural, somehow, not always easy, but not forced.

 

He wanted to remember it like that, whatever he’d had with Steve. Whatever they’d always had.

 

He’d just let himself enjoy the rest of the day. It was just for once, he told himself. He would tell Steve the truth soon enough. It was just . . . it would be good, to have this one day, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring up serious topics while he was still achy, short-tempered, and bleary-minded from his injuries. That was just a recipe for everything going wrong. It was an excuse, and he knew it, but he figured it was also valid enough, valid enough to let it slide.

 

He just wanted one more day, anyway. It wasn’t too terrible. It wasn’t that much.

 

He and Steve had lunch together, and then he did call into work in the afternoon, just to make sure everything was all right, and then Steve convinced him that since it was after five they could take some time off. They ended up watching Casablanca together, and even though it was a little . . . awkward, and sometimes the movie, the scenes, the dialogue, felt more than a little close to home, it was nice, too, and before Tony knew it he felt his eyes closing. 

 

He thought he fought to keep them open, but the next thing he knew he was prying his eyelids open groggily. It was dark, and the TV was off, and the lights were turned down. His face was pillowed against warm skin, smoother than his own, the curve of a neck, and there was a hand brushing lightly, soothingly through his hair, fingers tangling just slightly in the strands. He could smell Steve’s soap, the scent of his skin and the old-fashioned aftershave he used.

 

He closed his eyes tight, not daring to move for a moment, trying to fix this, this moment and how it felt, clearly in his mind. Steve’s fingers moved gently down over the back of his neck, back up into his hair, and Tony just stayed there, trying to breathe evenly and slowly like he had before, so Steve wouldn’t suspect he was awake and he had more time just to live in this moment. After another moment, he became sure that Steve knew he was awake, but he didn’t say anything, and didn’t stop stroking his hair.

 

Quickly the embarrassment, the shame of just lying there, trying to cling to him, pretending to be asleep, got to him, though, and he pushed himself up, opening his eyes. Steve smiled at him, once he was up, and Tony somehow managed to bring a smile to his lips in return, though he wasn’t sure how, where he’d dredged it up from.

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Sweetheart?” he said. “What is it?”

 

Tony knew he flushed. He must have gone deep red, he knew it, and he hoped the dim light mostly hid that. He hadn’t been prepared for that. For Steve calling him . . . that, again. He’d half convinced himself the last time had been his imagination, even, and . . . he didn’t know what to say to that. At all. It didn’t make sense. “What?” he said, and he could feel how rough his voice sounded.

 

Steve turned a little pink himself, Tony was pretty sure, though it was hard to tell with the lighting. “It’s just . . .” he said. He swallowed. “You looked so . . .” he shrugged. “Like something was wrong.”

 

“No,” Tony managed, trying not to let his voice tighten too badly. “Nothing—nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . sorry I fell asleep on you. I wanted to catch the end of the film, but . . . .” he shrugged.

 

Steve was still looking at him, and his gaze was sharp. Sharper than Tony was comfortable with. “Tony,” he said. “I . . . if there’s anything wrong, I’d like to know. You can tell me. Unless you’d rather not. Of course. I know this is . . .” he took a breath, “well, we haven’t been doing this very long, but we’ve been friends for a lot longer than that, and I know things haven’t always been . . . great between us, but you can try to talk to me.” He smiled at Tony, a little uncertainly. “Right?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tony said, and he knew it was dismissive, knew it was defensive, but he couldn’t help it. “Steve, Jesus. I’m just tired.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, after another minute, sounding a little sad. He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No!” Tony said desperately, a horrible lurch of guilt twisting up in his stomach now. “It’s not you. It’s not, it’s—”

 

Damn it. He was messing everything up again. Every time, he did this every time, and he just—today had been so good, too. And he just fucked it up, like he did with everything else, all the time, every time, he fucked it up, and he was always hurting people, he’d done something awful to Pepper that he couldn't remember, he knew it, and this was just how he was, and—

 

“It’s just,” he said, but he didn’t know what to say, because what could he say, what was there to say, “I don’t, I mean—”

 

“Hey,” Steve said. “Shh.” And this time when he kissed Tony it was so welcome, stopping his fumbling mouth with a kiss so that he didn’t say anything else stupid. His arm went around Tony, holding him steady so that he didn’t get pushed back in a way that pulled at his shoulder, and Tony found himself leaning into the kiss eagerly, desperately, the hand on his good side knotting in Steve’s shirt to pull him closer. Steve framed his face with his other hand, curled it against his jaw, holding him close as Tony licked into his mouth, and it all still felt so natural, somehow, that Tony’s throat felt tight. Everything felt natural with Steve, even the way his hand fit against the side of Tony’s face. The way he was touching him was so gentle, somehow not like he thought Tony was fragile, or it didn’t feel that way, at least, but soft and almost achingly tender, enough to make Tony tremble with it. Like Tony was important, somehow, important to him. They kissed for a long time, before Steve pulled away, still framing Tony’s face with that one hand. “Do you want to go up to bed?” he asked, soft and low, brushing Tony’s jaw with his thumb.

 

Tony swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m up to anything,” he said honestly, slowly, since it was tough to admit it, tough to get out the words, and it made him flush again, “same as last night. I’m just a little . . . you know. Sore. Still.” It was hard to refuse Steve anything, but he wanted to lay it out there, especially since he still wasn’t sure on what Steve was expecting. 

 

He felt so incredibly awkward.

 

Steve stared at him. “Tony, you’re hurt,” he said. “I can’t—uh—I mean, that’s fine. I don’t expect anything like that.” He smiled a little self-consciously and looked down, dropping his hand. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping in the same bed again, though,” he said. “If that wouldn’t bother you too much.”

 

What? “Why would it bother me?” Tony asked blankly. He still couldn’t believe Steve would be willing to just sleep with him and nothing else, just hold him like he had the night before. How could that possibly bother him? Steve was really being generous, it was way above and beyond the call of a relationship like theirs, here.

 

Steve shrugged a little. “I don’t know,” he said. “You like your space. I don’t want to intrude. Or if knocking into me makes the bruises worse, or anything. I don’t want to hurt you just because we’re sharing a bed.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said, surprised and a little lost with it. “No, it . . . it doesn’t make anything worse.” He didn’t want to say how much better it made him feel; it was frankly embarrassing, how just lying there against Steve’s warmth, his strength, the simple fact of his presence in his bed made him feel a thousand times better, like every bruise actually objectively hurt less, though he knew that was ridiculous. It was like he relaxed despite himself when Steve curled an arm around him or brought him close, and he . . . he felt safe like that. It was stupid, and childish, and needy, but there it was.

 

He was stupid, after all, what else was new?

 

“Oh,” Steve said, and then grinned a little, sheepish and relieved. “Okay, good. I’m glad.” He reached out again, curled his hand against Tony’s cheek, rubbed his thumb slightly against it, and Tony couldn’t help it, he shivered under that touch.

 

He shouldn’t accept this. He knew that. He wasn’t even giving Steve anything to make it worth his while anymore. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted this so badly, even if it was just friendly affection, even if it was just the illusion of love—he’d tell Steve everything after this, he told himself again.

 

Just one more night. Right? Steve was offering. He didn’t expect anything from Tony right now. Surely he wouldn’t mind, not too much, that Tony had accepted this one thing, when he’d offered it.

 

Tony took a deep breath, swallowed. “Okay,” he said, as firmly, as non-shakily as he could, and gave Steve the best smile he could manage.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, with real certainty this time and another smile at him that made something in Tony’s stomach flutter, and his chest tighten, made him flush warmly, and somehow made also his heart sink down to his boots, because surely he didn’t deserve that smile. Steve curled one arm around Tony’s waist and helped him to his feet, despite Tony’s protest, and eventually Tony just gave in, let Steve help him up to the bedroom. He was so stiff and sore he could barely move, and it was less humiliating, at least, than stumbling around like he had arthritis and falling flat on his face. And it . . . it was nice to lean his head on Steve’s shoulder sometimes, let him take some of the weight off, even if it was selfish, and lazy, and pathetic of Tony to let himself do it in the first place. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though. He started talking about the first time he’d seen Casablanca, and it seemed like Tony didn’t need to do much other than nod sometimes and make sounds of encouragement—but it wasn’t like he wasn’t enjoying the story, because he was. He loved it when Steve told stories, when he talked about his life like that. Steve didn’t do it very often, but Tony had always liked hearing it when he did.

 

It was strange how little time or effort it seemed to take to get all the way up to the bedroom, and then Steve was closing the door behind them, nudging him over to the bed.

 

Tony went, confused, giving him a look as he sat down. “What’s up?” he said.

 

Steve just smiled and shrugged, reaching for his sling, unfastening it and lifting it off over his head, helping Tony’s arm come to rest lightly on his leg, then started on the top button of his shirt. “I know you can do this yourself,” he said. “But I want to, all right?”

 

Tony was dubious about that, but he figured it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with Steve about something so immaterial, at least when Steve was on a roll. Though he would have liked to unbutton his own shirt—he wasn’t completely helpless, even if he only had one arm to really use, he was actually pretty good at undoing buttons one-handed. He’d had a lot of practice. But he nodded anyway. “Okay,” he said, trying to make a joke of it and not sure how well he did, “if you really want to.”

 

“I do,” Steve said, oddly insistent, despite his answering smile, and started on the buttons. Tony sat there and let him, until Steve was pulling the shirt off carefully over Tony’s shoulders, one at a time, and followed it with his undershirt, gentle with Tony’s bad arm. That done, he laid his fingers on Tony’s biceps, moving his hand up to run his thumb just over the ball of his shoulder, so lightly it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, Tony could barely feel it, so he wasn’t sure why the touch sent goosebumps shivering down his spine and made his breath come less evenly.

 

“How’s that feeling?” Steve asked, face gravely serious, and Tony had to shift uncomfortably, smile, to try to lighten that look on Steve’s face.

 

“Feels just fine,” he said.

 

Steve frowned, though, so that hadn’t worked.

 

“It looks pretty nasty,” he said.

 

“Well, it looks worse than it feels,” Tony said. Even though, to be honest, it felt pretty wretched. That was all right; he was used to injuries just like this one.

 

Steve gave him a look. “Tony,” he said. “I know it’s gotta hurt.”

 

Tony frowned at him. “Okay,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean we have to rehash it over and over again. It hurts; it’ll hurt for a while, then it’ll stop hurting. Law of nature, right?”

 

“You are such a . . .” Steve started, sounding frustrated.

 

“Jerk?” Tony finished, smiling sardonically. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“I was going to say a stubborn piece of work,” Steve said. He blew out his breath and smiled at him again. “Not a jerk.”

 

“Oh, I am a jerk,” Tony assured him. “But you’re a nice guy. For saying I’m not.”

 

Steve shook his head at him, then set his hand against his cheek again, leaned in, and kissed him, briefly, lips soft and damp on his. “You’re not a jerk,” he said. “You can’t fool me.”

 

“So then I’m a liar,” Tony said, smiling a little, ruefully now.

 

“Sometimes,” Steve said, and brushed his chin with his thumb. “Only sometimes.”

 

“Only sometimes?” Tony asked, wryly, to keep the conversation, or game, or whatever it was, going.

 

“Only sometimes,” Steve confirmed, and smiled a little. “To be honest, most of the time you’re a pretty terrible liar, Stark.”

 

Tony frowned. “Hey,” he said, but it was hard to deny. Honestly, he knew he often fumbled when lying straight out, it was why he used other tactics to skirt the truth when he needed to if he could, evasions, half-truths. So he did just that, reverting to the old trick. “It’s not like you’re any better.”

 

Steve did smile fully at that. “I never said I was,” he pointed out.

 

“Well,” Tony said. “Still.” Steve’s fingers moved down, trailed over the RT, and Tony stilled instantly, his breath stopping up in his throat. It wasn’t that he had a problem with Steve touching it, not really; like he’d reminded him, he’d given him the keys to it, the power to turn it off, and if that made him feel a little open and vulnerable to Steve, sometimes, maybe, it was nothing beside the way it made him feel oddly secure at the same time. Steve would never take advantage of that power, Tony knew that, as solidly and certainly as he knew the specs of the armor and the simplicity of a quadratic equation, and it meant Tony couldn’t . . . go off the rails, not if Steve was watching, and that Steve knew that. They both did. It was a—a gesture. More than a promise, because what would his promises mean to Steve after everything that had happened?

 

And maybe he’d wanted to make that gesture. Wanted to lay himself bare in front of Steve like that. He’d always stumbled over words with him, never been able to say quite the right thing. Even if Steve didn’t get it . . . maybe especially then . . . it had felt right.

 

He figured that was why it felt like Steve was touching a livewire to his heart every time he touched it. He basically, in essence, was. 

 

But he’d always had part of that heart anyway, now he just had the on-off switch, too. And however raw that made Tony feel, there was that safety in it. Safety from himself. The knowledge that he’d put himself out there to earn Steve’s trust again. And maybe that was why he just sat there, trembling. Because he loved him, helplessly, simply, because sometimes he thought that was the only real way he knew how to love someone, however flawed and awful he was, however often he screwed up and hurt people and ruined everything, and how else was he going to get a chance to show him? He wasn’t any good at other ways. That much was abundantly clear.

 

Steve traced his thumb over the scars again, looking down at the pale glow, and Tony could see him swallow. “Are you sure it’s all right for me to touch it?” Steve asked, after a moment. “You seem—you get all tense.”

 

Tony bit the inside of his lip. How could he ever explain that? That it wasn’t bad, not at all, just . . . just overwhelming. It didn’t help that no one other than Steve had ever really touched it, outside of medical situations, when it had been first installed. He hadn’t even been sure Steve would want to touch the strange tech set into his chest, changing him, making him his own permanent nightlight and battery and serving functionally as his brain stem all in one. It didn’t bug Tony, himself, aside from the possibility of it being damaged, of course, and he’d taken steps, so many steps, to prevent that, but of course he couldn’t ever have expected that sort of acceptance from Steve. Steve wasn’t the one who was brain-damaged, whose body was broken and flawed. Though Tony had honestly kind of had that one coming by all accounts, and it was his own choice, and he knew that, he owned that. Just like it had been in Afghanistan. The first time he'd needed to rely on something like this to stay alive.

 

It just felt . . . intimate. Steve being the first to really get to know it like that, like this. “It’s just a little strange,” he managed after a moment, clearing his throat and trying to smile. “I haven’t had it that long, and no one else has been that interested in . . . in touching it. Which, I know it’s weird, and I don’t expect . . . .”

 

“It’s part of you,” Steve said, suddenly fierce, firm. “That’s all it is.” His eyes came up and fixed on Tony, suddenly very blue, and Tony swallowed. “I wish you hadn’t been hurt badly enough to need it,” he said. “But since you were, I’m glad there was something that could help. If I’d come back, and you were dead already—” He swallowed, thickly, and there was so much pain on his face, his expression twisted up. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he finished, voice a little thick and rough.

 

“Plenty of people might have said I deserved exactly that,” Tony pointed out. In fact, a few people had told him as much. It was proof of Steve’s good heart that the thought would have upset him at all, especially at that . . . that particular moment. Tony had to swallow again, himself. “That was why I left it up to, well, Cap, and Thor. I thought you guys had the right. To decide about me.”

 

“God, Tony,” Steve said thickly, and now he sounded anguished. “What else could anyone have decided?” His hand came down, rested over the light, and he drew in a shuddering breath. “You really—you really thought . . . .”

 

“Well,” Tony said, wryly. “I don’t know what I really thought. But . . . yeah, if I work backwards, I have a good idea that I wasn’t sure what all was going to happen.” He decided not to tell Steve that in his notes for himself he’d clearly spelled out what he’d just said—that Bucky and Thor had the right to decide what happened to him more than anyone else, and he still agreed with that.

 

And if Tony privately thought that it was easier to go forward, knowing that the Tony Stark who had gotten Steve Rogers killed was functionally dead? Steve probably didn’t need hearing that, either, if he was looking this upset just from what he’d already said.

 

Steve did look upset, really . . . really upset, and Tony felt guilty, reached up with his good hand to rest it on Steve’s shoulder, touched it to his hair. “Hey,” he said, “it’s fine.” He smiled at him. “It’s all fine. It’s all good.”

 

Steve moved in suddenly, pressed a soft but fervent kiss to the skin between Tony’s neck and shoulder and left his lips there, closing his eyes, just for a second. He put both hands on Tony’s sides and just held him for a moment. “God, Tony,” he said again. “I—I’m glad you trust me, and Bucky, and Thor, to do what’s needed for you, whenever, because we will, of course we will, but . . . you don’t need to. All these extremes, I don’t . . . you don’t have to. And I . . . .”

 

“I don’t need forgiveness,” Tony said quickly. “You don’t have to . . . it’s not . . . I just . . .” he swallowed, had to knot his good hand up into a fist, but it was the truth. “I just wanted to someday get your trust again. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I . . . I’m hoping, that . . . that we’ll get there, and . . . .”

 

Steve raised his head, looked at him in alarm. After a second, he went down on one knee, then raised one hand to cup Tony’s face. Tony flushed, looked away, his throat too thick to meet Steve’s eyes; that was dangerous. There was a moment of silence, and Tony wondered what he’d do if he just lost it, could you panic over something like this, how lame was that, and—

 

“Tony,” Steve said, quietly. “You said . . . I mean. You mean . . . all this time, the reason you didn’t apologize, or ask me to forgive you, or anything, it was because . . . because you feel like you don’t deserve that?”

 

“I told you before,” Tony said, his throat knotted and aching, “I can’t apologize. Not when I know I’d do the same thing again. What good would that do? It would just be . . . empty. And I’ve given you enough empty words. I’ve given . . . everyone enough empty words, I think. I know I hurt you, but I’m not going to say I was wrong, and . . . I’m not going to make it about me. Any more than I already have. I just have to make up for everything that happened. That’s that. I’m working on it, anyway.”

 

“God,” Steve said, his voice thick, and strangled, and he ducked his head. “Tony, I . . . you know what I thought? I thought it was because you really didn’t care. That you didn’t care if I forgave you, or . . . any of that.”

 

“I know,” Tony murmured. He looked down, because he had known, and he hadn’t said anything, and if Steve was angry at him for that, too, he had every right. “And I let you think that. I don’t have any right to make excuses to you,” he said. “I figured, if you resented me, if you thought I was an arrogant bastard, it was only fair, I’d more than earned that, even if not . . . not with that specifically. I mean. I was an arrogant bastard. That’s pretty, uh, well-established, and yeah.” Steve trembled a little, and Tony felt terrible. “I am sorry,” he said, hurriedly, then winced. “I mean, I can see now that maybe I should have made it clear that . . . I did regret what happened. But I . . . I would probably still do the same thing. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” And oh, God, this was why Steve should never have gotten into this with him, Tony was such a fuck-up. Just listening to his own fumbling words was an exercise in embarrassment.

 

Steve slowly, quietly, slid his arms around Tony’s waist and moved in, until he was kneeling on both knees, pressing a soft kiss to Tony’s neck, then just under his ear, at the hinge of his jaw, his hands sliding gently up over Tony’s spine. “I read you so wrong,” he said, and his voice was still so horribly thick, and hoarse. “I misjudged you. I’m so sorry. I thought . . . I never thought, I thought I knew you so well, I don’t know . . . oh, Tony, God. God.”

 

Tony was shaking himself, now, hot in the face. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “God, just . . . stop. It’s fine. I . . . I knew what you thought, what you’d think of me. I . . . I probably deserved everything you thought, anyway, it’s not a big deal.” _Just stop apologizing_ , he thought desperately. _Don’t apologize to me, you can’t._ It was too wrong.

 

“I know you got things wrong,” Steve said, but his arms were still so tight around Tony, his face pressed into his neck, and he wasn’t, he wasn’t moving away, “and I still think you made some bad choices. But I was wrong about why you made them. And . . . and the things I thought about you. I’m ashamed of them. You’re—you’re my friend. More than that, you're— And I should have remembered that. Remembered why.”

 

“I must have known you were going to hate me,” Tony said. “I know I would have known that. I . . . it’s not your fault.”

 

“Tony . . .” Steve said. He drew back a little, but he left one hand, very gently, skimming up Tony’s back. The other came up and touched his jaw. “I’m responsible,” he said, “for the things I think. It’s not your fault. It’s not your responsibility. Even if you let it happen, or manipulate me, even, I’m my own man. You don’t get to carry the burden of my faults and weaknesses and petty moments of anger, too. I know . . . I’m starting to understand,” he amended, “that you would, willingly. And it’s . . . it worries me, a little, but it’s also kinda, well. I mean. It’s . . . generous. And it's a little scary, too, it's not . . . that's not your place to decide, for everyone, but it's generous, too, I can see that now. You’re always so generous. But I don’t need you to do that. I’ve got it. They’re my faults. I need to be looking at them myself.”

 

Tony nodded. “I’m trying to do better, too,” he said, trying to let Steve know that he understood, and that he wasn’t just letting things lie, either, that he was trying to do better, to make up for everything, all the mistakes he’d made. He knew he was flawed and . . . and broken and welded together and that his flaws were glaring and some of his mistakes hastily patched, but he was trying to do better, to forge himself better, stronger, worthier.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, and both hands came up to frame Tony’s face. “I like you just fine,” he said.

 

“Even when I fuck up,” Tony said, and yeah, it was a little sarcastic, because he remembered Steve yelling at him in front of everyone, right after the battle against Osborn, reaming him out in front of the team again, for the Illuminati thing, as well as the next person.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, and now he sounded huffy, great. See? There Tony went, screwing it up again. He sighed. But Steve just brought his hands down, let them rest on Tony’s thighs, and squeezed a little. “I always like you. I’ve always liked you. And I always will like you. That’s just how it is.”

 

“I’m not very likable,” Tony pointed out, looking down at his hands, because it was too hard to look into Steve’s face, it was just . . . too much. He loved him so much, and if he looked at him, looking back at him with so much affection . . . he was going to do something stupid.

 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m stubborn,” Steve said, and squeezed his thighs a little more. “And stop that. You’re plenty likable.”

 

“I guess as long as you think so,” Tony said with a smile that felt weak even to him. He supposed he shouldn’t question the reasoning behind it, Steve was generous enough to see something he liked in him, and that should be enough—but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He didn’t get it, and it was hard to get himself to leave stuff alone when he didn’t get it. Always had been.

 

“Jeez, Tony,” Steve said, and leaned in and kissed him, very gently. “Of course I like you. I—I missed you. I missed you a lot.” Tony realized Steve was flushing slightly all over again.

 

He leaned into the kiss himself, suddenly, curled one hand around the back of Steve’s neck and kissed him with more strength, though still keeping it soft. It was supposed to be an answer. He’d missed him, too, but how was he supposed to say that without letting on that he was in love with him? He didn’t want to fuck it up, and he would, if he opened his mouth, he was sure of it, so instead he just kissed him back, quiet and sure and giving as much as he could to it.

 

He must have really missed him, during the time that he couldn’t remember—but that, that pain, didn’t matter. Not when it was his fault that Steve hadn’t been there to share things with in the first place. Not when Steve was dead. Who the hell cared about Tony’s pain, about Tony missing him, when Steve had been dead?

 

They kissed for long moments, and Tony felt his focus narrowing in, until he was entirely focused on the soft touch of Steve’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the slow, giving welcome in the way he kissed Tony back, the little movements he made. 

 

Steve eventually moved his hands, put his arms back around Tony. They kissed for a while longer before he pulled away, slowly, almost reluctantly, then curled his arms around Tony a little more, bringing him in against his shoulder. “Can I just—” he said, then broke off and brought Tony closer against his chest, one hand moving up and down his spine, and nuzzled his face in against his neck on the side with his good shoulder.

 

“Sure,” Tony said, surprised, but if Steve wanted to hug, it wasn’t like he was going to say no. He let Steve press himself closer and leaned into him, wrapping his arm around Steve in return. Steve was rubbing his hand over the small of Tony’s back, slow and gentle, not letting go, and after a moment, Tony let himself relax into it, resting his lips in Steve’s hair (it wasn’t quite a kiss, he told himself) and breathing evenly. He couldn’t deny that it felt good, Steve’s arms around him, that slow movement of his hand against his spine, the bare skin of his back. He found himself reluctant to pull away, and Steve’s lips were still soft and sweet on his neck, so he just curled his fingers in Steve’s hair, letting his hand rest at the back of his neck, and let himself enjoy it for a while. They actually stayed like that for a while, before Tony started to yawn. He did his best to control it, locking his jaw and ducking his head down, but Steve still gave him one last gentle stroke of his hand over his back and pulled away. Tony sighed a little, but let him go.

 

“You’re tired,” Steve said, and he was still a little flushed. “We were going to get you into bed.” He got to his feet, gave Tony a hand and steadying him as he got up as well.

 

“It’s fine,” Tony said, embarrassed at being caught out. “I . . . uh. Sorry. I’ll just go get changed.” Steve looked a little lost, just standing there, so he leaned in and kissed him again, softly, letting his fingers brush over his jaw. “You can borrow those pajamas again,” he said, feeling awkward, “if you still . . . if you still want to stay.”

 

“I do,” Steve said, softly, and he trailed his fingers down over Tony’s side. “Thank you. Now you go on.” He smiled a little. “Get set for bed, okay?”

 

“Right, right, I will,” Tony said.

 

He purposefully didn’t let himself think too much about anything, especially not what had just happened, as he brushed his teeth and changed, reapplied the bandages and got himself ready for bed. It was better if he just let the tiredness take over, and so he did, let it fuzz out his mind until it was a blank, gray and dull around the edges. When he came out of the bathroom again, Steve was there, and he surprised Tony by wrapping him in his favorite bathrobe, over his t-shirt and boxers, before he nudged him over to the bed and Tony crawled in, trying not to be too clumsy with his injuries and mostly failing. It was good, though, he’d been cold, and it was nice to lie there in bed with the robe wrapped around him and then have Steve lie there with him, putting his arms gently around Tony and pulling him into his chest, making sure he didn’t put any weight on his bad arm.

 

Don’t think about it too much, he told himself firmly. He wasn’t going to think about the conversation they’d just had. He wasn’t going to think about anything, just this, right now. He had decided he was going to do this, let himself be here with Steve tonight, and worry about everything, everything he had to fix, everything he didn’t deserve, tomorrow.

 

Tonight he let himself be pulled into Steve’s shoulder, let himself press his face in against Steve’s borrowed t-shirt, snuggle closer and breathe in the warm clean smell of Steve’s skin, feel how warm and solid he was against him. Tonight he let himself just enjoy it. “Good night,” he murmured, and Steve stroked his back, and that was really nice.

 

“Good night,” Steve whispered into his hair.

 

It was really nice, Tony thought again, drowsily. If only this could last. He curled up closer to Steve and let the gray slowly encroaching on his mind overtake everything and drag him into sleep.

 

\-----

 

Tony spent the next few days, after that, avoiding Steve as much as he could. When he’d woken up, and realized how embarrassing he’d been the night before, two nights in a row, how much he’d let himself show, it had been like a sobering splash of cold water, and he . . . he needed to tell Steve the truth. But thinking about doing that made his stomach twist up with nerves, made his chest knot painfully behind the RT until he almost couldn’t breathe, and looking at Steve reminded him of the truth he was so unfairly keeping to himself, so while he screwed up his courage as best he could he found himself avoiding him as much as possible. Which wasn’t very much, since Steve seemed to have appointed himself officially in charge of Tony’s recovery, but he still ducked him, hid in his workshop as much as possible, pulled out every trick he could without actually leaving the Tower. He wasn’t willing to go quite that far, brand himself quite that much of a coward. 

 

He knew he needed to come clean with Steve, needed to tell him the truth. He couldn’t let it go any longer. So instead he waited three days, avoiding Steve as much as possible, because seeing him made his guilty conscience churn and bile build in the back of his throat, especially when he was being so solicitous, so kind to Tony.

 

Finally, Tony knew he couldn’t put it off another day. He waited for Steve to come down to find him in his workshop, because he knew he would—Steve had gotten a good grip on Tony’s patterns over the last few days. And Tony felt . . . safer in the workshop, stronger. Since he had to do this, he figured it might as well be there. 

 

And he was going to do it. He wasn’t going to let this go on any longer. This was it. He was done running from this, and clinging to stupid hopes, and lies, and all of it.

 

And sure enough, before long Steve came down the stairs, looking for him. “Tony?” he called out. He had a plate of sandwiches in his hand. Tony swallowed, turned off his welding torch and put it away, an unwieldy operation with one arm still in a sling (Steve harped on it until he put it back on every time he took it off, and because he did, the others had all started to do it, too), and pulled off his goggles. He took a deep breath, then stood up and turned around, bracing himself against his worktable with one hand for a long moment.

 

“Hey, Steve,” he said, and he couldn’t help how serious his voice seemed to sound.

 

Steve smiled at him, put the plate of sandwiches in a clear spot on the table, then touched his fingers gently to a bruise above Tony’s eye. “That looks a lot better,” he said, and smiled more. “You’re healing up great.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, a little awkwardly, he thought, but he couldn’t seem to help that. “Thanks.” He took another deep breath, blew it out. Just do it, you idiot. Right. “I, uh, look, I have something to talk to you about.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, and looked at him expectantly. “What is it? Shoot.”

 

Tony had a moment of everything going blank, where he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It didn’t happen to him very much. At all. He struggled, swallowed. “I,” he said. “Uh. I don’t know if this is . . . is going to work, Steve.”

 

Steve blinked, reached out and took hold of Tony’s shoulder, the good one. “What is it, Tony?” he asked. “Me trying to take care of you? I’m sorry if it’s been too much, I know it wasn’t all that serious, I’ve just been worried about you.” He looked down, looking faintly sheepish, and smiled up at Tony through his eyelashes, and it was so endearing, so stupidly sincere, that Tony felt his heart lurch, something in his chest seize up.

 

“No,” he managed to croak out. “It’s not that.”

 

“Then what is it?” Steve asked, rubbing his shoulder slightly, his brow creasing.

 

Tony squeezed both hands into fists, even the one that hurt. “I haven’t been honest with you,” he said. “And I . . . we can’t keep going like that. I need to be honest with you, Steve. I—I have to be.”

 

Steve nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think so, too. Actually, I have something to tell you myself. I’ve been . . . waiting for the right time, I guess. And I—”

 

“Wait!” Tony broke in, and then winced that he’d been so brusque about interrupting him. But it was too late to fix it now, so he plunged ahead. “I’d like to say mine first,” he said, and hope his anxiety wasn’t too obvious. “Then, if you still want to, you can say whatever you feel you need to say.” He swallowed at that. He could just imagine what Steve was going to say after he told him the truth.

 

Yeah, he had a pretty good idea of what he was going to want to say at that point.

 

“All right,” Steve said. His eyes were so blue, blue and sincere. “Sure, Tony. Of course.”

 

Right. Tony figured it was probably best to come out with it, get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.

 

He felt dizzy.

 

Just spit it out, he thought. Right. Just say it. He could do that. “We can’t do this anymore,” Tony said, his throat thick and his voice hoarse. “We can’t . . . be together.”

 

Steve reared back a little, his face shocked. He looked just as horribly hurt as Tony had been afraid of. This was all wrong—he never should have let it go on this long, he’d never wanted to hurt him— “Tony, what?” he said. “Tony . . .” his face twisted. “Why? What’s wrong? If it’s because of my hovering over you since you got hurt, I swear, I swear, I can stop.” There was so much desperation in his voice.

 

Tony swallowed and had to wrench it down past the lump in his throat. “No,” he managed. “It’s nothing to do with you. You’re . . . you’re just great. It’s all me. And I’m not just saying that to be clichéd, or anything like that. It really is me.”

 

Steve looked so upset, something aching and awful in his face. Tony could see it as he swallowed, and it looked like it was a struggle. “A-all right,” he said, and his voice sounded so raw and rough, and it broke a little, and Tony felt lower than Steve’s shoes right now, he really did. “Can I ask . . . what the problem is?”

 

It was on the tip of Tony’s tongue to say that it didn’t matter, that that was just the way it was, that he’d been dishonest, and that was all that really mattered, that Tony was the problem. But he knew Steve deserved better than that. Anyone would, would deserve better than just being passed off with a line and a claim he hadn’t backed up with anything, and Steve deserved so much better, deserved so much better than anything Tony could give him. He’d intended to tell Steve the whole truth, and he was going to.

 

It was just . . . hard. After all this time hiding his feelings, actually saying them out loud seemed almost impossible, not to mention manipulative, somehow. And unforgivably maudlin. Tony swallowed again. “I wasn’t completely honest with you when we started this,” he said, straightening his shoulders as best he could with the sling. Best just to get through it. “I should have told you the truth then, and I know that—knew that. I’ve been continuing this relationship under false pretenses, taking advantage of—of you, and I shouldn’t have.”

 

“How were you taking advantage of me?” Steve asked, sounding shocked, baffled.

 

Tony had to swallow, looked down—he couldn’t meet his eyes any longer. “I took advantage of your friendship and . . . and affection, and good nature,” he said. “Of the fact that you care about me, even if it . . . it isn’t the same way I care about you.”

 

“But how do you know we don’t feel the same way?” Steve asked, sounding frantic now. “I still don’t know how you feel about me, and I—I’ve been looking for it. Tony, I—” He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. “Do you not care about me at all, then?”

 

“What?” Tony said, and swallowed. “No, no, that’s not . . . that’s not it at all.” He looked at Steve, confused. “I care about you,” he said thickly. “I’ve always . . . cared about you.”

 

“Then what is it?” Steve demanded, his voice rough, almost harsh. Tony had to swallow again, instinctively lifted his chin rather than wince away. Steve bit his lip, looked down and Tony could see his throat working before he moved forward, laid one hand back on Tony’s arm. “I have to warn you, Tony,” he said, lower now, and earnest, so earnest, his eyes bright and intense with it. “I’m not going to give up on you that easily.”

 

Tony felt a little dizzy. God, he found himself thinking, why the hell not? If he were Steve he’d have cut his losses and run a long time ago. Even Steve, loyal, steadfast Steve, had to see the out he was giving him. 

 

He didn’t know what to say to that. Nothing seemed to make sense at this point. But he was so close now, he still had to say it, and . . . and he wasn’t going to be a coward. Not now. “I—I’m in love with you,” he finally croaked out. It almost hurt to say. No, it did hurt to say, a strangely physical, wrenching hurt. “I’ve . . . I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and it’s not . . . it’s not something I can just ignore.” He blew out a long, shaking breath.

 

There.

 

He’d done it.

 

He felt like he was going to throw up. Maybe.

 

“But . . . I don’t understand,” Steve said. He took drew in another deep breath of his own. “Why is that a problem?” Tony stared at him. Steve took another deep breath and ran a hand back through his own hair, his blue eyes dark and confused now. He blew out his breath, seemed to come to a decision. “That’s what I was going to tell you, Tony. I love you, too. I . . . I’m serious about this. I want this to be serious. I wanted to tell you how much you mean, to me, and . . . how much I’d miss you, if you died, and . . . just . . . how important you are to me.”

 

“But you don’t,” Tony protested, feeling like everything was going horribly wrong, somehow, and even more like he was about to vomit just from the pure anxiety of that knot in his chest. “I mean—you don’t. Want this to be serious, that’s not . . . that’s not what this was ever about. This is casual, you just—you wanted a friends with benefits sort of thing.”

 

Steve stared at him. “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t. I never wanted that, not with you.”

 

“You don’t?” Tony asked, feeling desperately confused, like everything had abruptly ceased making sense at all, like everything was just careening wildly out of control and was about to blow up in his face like he’d lost control of the armor somehow. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’m not casual about this, about you, at all,” Steve said, and his voice was unshakably, unmistakably firm. “Anything but.”

 

“But I—” Tony said, and then stopped, because he had no idea what else to say. “What are you saying?” he finally said, faintly. His legs felt wobbly. He was a little worried he was going to fall over—he felt so dizzy, and faint, and strange. His heart was pounding a thousand times too fast in his chest, he thought it must be, and his hands felt cold and clammy.

 

“I’m saying that I love you, genius,” Steve said, sounding frustrated, so frustrated, but there was something like caring, something like . . . like love? maybe? Did Tony even know what that sounded like, because he was starting to wonder—in his voice, and then he took Tony’s face in his hands and kissed him.

 

It was quite the kiss, searing and passionate. Tony found himself pushed back against the console behind him, and it was a good thing, too, because he felt so dizzy now he doubted his legs would hold him. Steve’s hands found their way up into his hair, his mouth hot and demanding over Tony’s. They kissed until his head was spinning, even more than it already was, and he was breathless, and Steve’s chest was warm and strong against his own, his hips bracketing Tony’s against the console, and he seemed content to kiss Tony for as long as it took, for . . . for who knew how long. Slowly, as they continued kissing, as the kiss went on and on, went softer and deeper and even warmer, even hotter, Tony’s hand found its way up and fisted in Steve’s shirt, pulling him close. Tony couldn’t believe this, couldn’t believe what Steve had said, couldn’t believe this was real, any of it. It felt impossible. But Steve was here, and kissing him, his mouth hot and wet over Tony’s, his hands cupping his jaw, tangling in his hair, and he didn’t pull away from Tony’s hand curling tightly in his shirt and dragging him closer against him.

 

Tony wasn’t sure he believed this. Wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t know what was going on. But he closed his eyes and poured everything in him, everything he was, into the kiss. He didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid to see anything on Steve’s face, anything at all, that would make this feel less real.

 

They didn’t stop kissing until Steve pressed closer and jostled Tony’s shoulder and his ribs and he gasped despite himself at the pain that went through him, even though he would have given anything to have been able to keep it back. Steve pulled away instantly, touched Tony’s side gently, apologetically. “Sorry,” he said quickly. His voice was breathless and ragged, he was very flushed, and his lips were pink and swollen from the kiss. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Tony said, dismissing it. He swallowed again. He felt so dizzy, reeling. He couldn’t seem to look away from Steve’s face, feeling like he’d fall if he did, if he lost that anchor. “So,” he said. “I . . . feel really stupid now.” He still wasn’t certain this was real, still wasn’t convinced this was even possible. How could it be? How could Steve possibly be in love with him? Part of his mind insisted that it wasn’t real, that Steve was being kind, or just trying to make him happy, still making allowances because he’d gotten hurt like an idiot. Maybe he should give him an out, another one, give him a chance to get out of this gracefully. Before he regretted it. Before Tony got too attached.

 

But looking at Steve made it hard to believe that. His eyes were so sincere, his jaw set and determined, his mouth soft with affection. “Don’t feel stupid,” he said immediately. “It was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It was,” Tony insisted. Whatever was going on, it was obvious that he was the one who’d fucked up here, somehow. He just wasn’t quite sure how yet. “I just assumed . . . I mean, obviously. I should have just asked you.”

 

“I don’t really think either of us is very good at talking about our feelings,” Steve said, his cheeks coloring a little. He looked down, took a breath. “But I can’t believe—you thought I was just sleeping with you, Tony? Really? Just as friends?” He sounded stunned, and more than a little offended.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said desperately. “It was just . . . it made sense.”

 

“Because it’s so hard to believe anyone would love you that you leap to any conclusion other than that one?” Steve demanded.

 

“No, no,” Tony said, uncomfortable. He shifted, uneasily. “It’s not like that. It’s just . . . it’s you. Why would you be in love with me? After everything? I don’t even remember everything that happened, and I thought it was impossible. I mean, I thought us being friends was just about impossible, and I . . . I still don’t know what to do with this, Steve.”

 

Steve sighed. He reached out, let his hands rest on Tony’s neck, pulled him a little closer. “Believe it,” he said, his voice firm and bright with sincerity. “And we’ll work on what comes next.” He frowned, traced his thumb down over Tony’s pulse. “I can’t believe you actually thought I just wanted you for sex,” he said. “Tony . . .”

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, abashed. “I just . . .”

 

Steve shrugged. “I must have not treated you very well,” he said, “if you thought that was all I cared about from you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that kind of relationship,” he added, “but I just . . . I thought we were dating, Tony.” He blushed, a little, and his voice got a bit lower, a little huskier. “You’re—you’re my sweetheart. I care about you so much, and I had . . . I had this whole speech written, in my head, about how important you are to me, and how amazing you are, and how you should know that, and . . . and take care of yourself.”

 

“You treated me fine,” Tony said hastily. “It was me, it was all my problem. I was confused, that was all. You’ve been—you’ve been great.”

 

Steve frowned. “We’ll see,” he said. “But you get it into your head that I couldn’t care less about the sex. Well, I like it,” he grinned rather boyishly, “but that’s not the point of, of this. I care about you. Remember that.”

 

Tony stared at him for a moment. A long moment. He took in the truth, the brightness in Steve’s eyes, the determination in the set of his jaw, the wet kiss-stung flush of his lips, the color in his cheeks.

 

He took a deep breath. He tried very hard not to let his knees buckle. “I’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll. I’ll do my best.”

 

“I can’t ask for more than Tony Stark’s best, can I?” Steve said, smiling a bit tremulously now. “I could never ask for more than that.” He lifted one hand, laid it on Tony’s chest, over the RT. His voice went softer, earnest and somehow sweet. “Tony, I want you to—I—I really do love you. I want . . . I want you to hear that again.”

 

Tony felt his cheeks flood with heat at that. It felt hard to breathe, like his chest was too tight—it was so vivid that he raised one hand to brush it against the RT, just to make sure it was still there, still functioning properly, even though he knew better than anyone that it didn’t work like that. That made his hand brush Steve’s fingers, and he felt even dizzier, warm all though. He was so dizzy by this point that he wasn’t even sure how he was managing to stand up straight. “I—I love you, too,” he said. He had to force the words out. “It’s just—I just . . . so much, Steve.” He swallowed. How could he even say what he felt for Steve, the tangled up currents of warmth and closeness and caring and trust and fondness, and now guilt, too—he knew he loved him, but just saying it didn’t feel like enough. He put his hands on Steve’s shoulders and just looked at him a moment, swallowing hard, again—he couldn’t seem to get past the lump in his throat to actually say anything else.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly, and let his hands rest gently on Tony’s sides, so gently his ribs didn’t even twinge, brushing them lightly. Tony wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. “So much.”

 

And it was like that pulled more words out of him, the look on Steve’s face, in his eyes, and God, now he couldn’t seem to stop talking, the words just spilled out of him as he winced away from that, the sincerity in Steve’s eyes and in his voice, it was too much, far too much, so he had to say something.

 

“I . . . I just . . . I have to say thank you. Thank you for . . . .” He shrugged. He took a deep, shaking breath. “For all of this. For any of it. For putting up with me. For . . . for being with me.”

 

“For loving you?” Steve asked. He smiled a little, still framing Tony’s sides lightly with his hands, brushing his thumbs so softly against his ribs, almost like he was tracing the path of the bandages and tape Tony was still wearing strapped over them. “It’s not hard. It’s not very hard at all.”

 

Tony gave a wry, unconvinced half-smile and shook his head. “It’s worth a thank you in my book, anyway,” he said.

 

“Then you’re welcome,” Steve said. “And thank you, too. Because what I said a few nights ago was true.” He took a deep breath and leaned in toward Tony a little more, his eyes very blue, and very sincere. “I’m lucky—so lucky—to have you. That you can trust me, after everything. That you want to be with me. That you chose me.”

 

“Anyone would want you,” Tony said painfully. “I . . . I can’t even tell you how long I’ve wanted you. For years. I just—Steve, I . . .”

 

“Hey, shh,” Steve said. “Just . . . I wanted you, too. And now we’re here. Let’s just . . . let’s just concentrate on that.” He held out his arms, curling one around Tony, and when Tony stepped forward, Steve pulled him into the embrace of the other, against Steve’s side, carefully not jostling Tony’s arm. Steve nosed into his hair, kissed the shell of his ear. “So we’re together,” he said softly, “right?”

 

“If you want me,” Tony said, with a desperate little laugh, “you have me.”

 

“And I want you,” Steve said, sounding content. “So that’s that.”

 

Tony sighed. This felt so unreal, so . . . so impossible, like a dream, except that his dreams weren’t even this good. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he worked hard enough at it, in time he’d managed to believe it. Believe this. He wasn’t sure about that, but he’d work at it, he’d work at it as hard as he could. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s that.” He stood there with his eyes closed, concentrating on every moment as hard as humanly possible, holding to each one tightly. His hand went back to Steve’s shirt, he couldn’t help it, as Steve pressed kisses behind his ear, along the side of his neck, stroking his back, and it felt—incredible. Perfect. He didn’t have to tell himself not to enjoy it like that, not to revel in it—he still couldn’t believe it, there was that part of him trying to get in his own way, to block himself from that pain, to warn himself off, but the realization that he didn’t have to was like relief, dizzying and pure, the lifting of a burden so heavy that just the easing of it made him feel a hundred times lighter. He sighed, let his forehead rest on Steve’s shoulder, and just . . . let it rest there. Didn’t tell himself he had to pull away.

 

“I love you,” he murmured into Steve’s neck, just to say it, and he got to feel Steve smile against his ear. He pressed his mouth to Steve’s pulse, trying to memorize the beat of it, because that was all right, that was all right now, he was allowed, that was fine, it was totally fine, it was good, even, Steve wanted it, it was going to make him smile and maybe feel like Tony loved him, because he did. And it was all right if he slid his good arm around Steve’s back and pulled him in a little closer, if he pressed kisses up behind his ear, nuzzled in just under his hair; he could smell Steve’s shampoo and feel the way he flushed and the way he smiled against his skin, and he brought his hand up and curled it around Steve’s shoulder and pressed his lips to his cheek. “I love you,” he breathed against Steve’s skin, and he didn’t flinch or draw away, he just smiled and moved to kiss Tony again.

 

Maybe, Tony thought, as Steve curled his arms around his waist and he kept his around his shoulders, even as they moved away from the console, not breaking the kiss, even when Steve picked him up, and whoa, wasn’t that a trip, and set him on the table, pushing the plate of sandwiches back behind him, and he leaned into the kiss again, still eager for more, and Steve just pulled him even closer, maybe he was starting to believe it.

 

\-----

 

“So,” James Rhodes said, hanging back for a moment. “Commander. Can I talk to you for a second?”

 

Steve nodded, watching the others go for a moment before turning back, towards Rhodes, stepping in so they could both lower their voices a bit. “Of course,” he said. “What do you need?”

 

“It’s a little personal,” Rhodes said, flipping up his faceplate. Every time he saw him do that, it reminded Steve of Tony a little, though he was trying to work on that association, since it wasn’t fair to Rhodes, and Steve knew better than that, anyway—he’d worked with James Rhodes before, and he was a good man, his own man. In some ways, it was easier for Steve to read him than it was Tony, actually. Maybe it was having the service in common, or maybe it was just that Tony had always been tough for Steve to read.

 

Steve nodded, waved the others on ahead and gave it a moment to let them get fully out of earshot, before he turned more fully to Rhodes, crossing his arms across his chest. “Yes?” he said.

 

“Look, I’m just going to put it out there,” Rhodes said. “So. How are things going with Tony?”

 

Steve felt himself go warm and was sure he had gone at least a little pink. He’d thought Rhodes had meant personal when it came to himself, not Steve—but then, he was one of Tony’s closest friends, so he guessed in a way it was personal for him, too. “You, uh, you know about that?” he said. “I guess . . . well, uh, yeah, I guess you would.”

 

“The money from the betting pool has already changed hands, man,” Rhodes said. “It’s out there now.”

 

“What?” Steve said, frowning. “What do you mean? There was a—people were betting on us?”

 

“No need to look quite so scandalized, Rogers,” Rhodes said with a grin. “It happens. Tiny little close-knit community like this . . . you should know, you’re military.”

 

“That kind of thing is private,” Steve said, and knew he sounded a little stiff, but he couldn’t help it. And then, because now it was going to bug him, because how long had they been so stupid, and so blind—how long had everyone else been able to see it before they had?—he asked, “How long has there been one?”

 

Rhodes shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not in the whole superhero gossip loop that much. I just know that Wolverine won a bundle on you two.” He gave Steve’s face another look, then added. “It was already in place by the time I was Iron Man for a while, you know, that whole thing? I know that much.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said, sighing, and looking down at his crossed arms. He should have known. So yes. Practically everyone had seen it before them, then.

 

But he supposed he had known that, in a way. He’d always known that Jan, at least, on some level, knew about his feelings for Tony. Why shouldn’t the others be able to see it as well? Apparently it was just the two of them who had been blind.

 

That seemed fitting, considering what they’d done to each other. Even what he’d just missed, so recently. God, he should have seen. It should have been so obvious—Tony’s hesitance, his unexpected distance with certain things. His quietness and uncertainty in ways he hadn’t expected. The lack of dates, and Tony’s obvious confusion whenever he was affectionate. But he’d just thought he was a little reticent, tentative, that it was going to take time for him to . . . settle in, to Steve caring about him like that, and that maybe he just thought about relationships differently than Steve did. He was, he’d always been, so sophisticated, and Steve was just a working class Irish boy who’d already been a little old-fashioned in some ways back in 1940. Hell, he didn’t know—but he should have.

 

He should have figured it out. Tony had been there for him, for his little frustrations and his down moments and his nightmares and everything. The least he could have done was pay enough attention to be there for him, too. To make him realize that Steve wanted to be there for him.

 

“Look,” Rhodes said, shifting in a way that recalled Steve’s attention to the way the armor hissed when he moved, “that’s not my point. Though it is kind of interesting. Anyway. You have a problem with it, you take it up with Logan. My point is, how’s it going with Tony? All right?”

 

Steve flushed a little more, he knew it, and it was embarrassing, and there was apparently nothing he could do to stop it. “It’s really great,” he said, honestly, because why shouldn't Rhodes hear it from him? It was great, and Tony was great, and now, finally, things were good, and he thought . . . Tony finally understood how Steve felt about him, and maybe even was starting to believe it. He’d been . . . hard on himself, kind of upset about how he should have been doing more for Steve, Steve thought. But Steve hoped he’d reassured him on that front—God, it was the other way around entirely, though for some reason, Tony couldn’t see that. “It’s . . . wonderful. I can only hope Tony’s as happy as I am.”

 

“Yeah, that’s, uh, a great lead-in, for me, actually,” Rhodes said. “I hope that, too. And I'm sure hoping things are pretty good right now. But I worry about the guy. I worry about him kind of a lot. You see what I’m saying?”

 

Steve nodded. Of course he did—and he would have thought less of Rhodes if he hadn’t been protective of his friend, especially after everything Steve had done to Tony. “I understand,” he said. “I know this probably won’t sound like much to you, but I have no intention of hurting him.”

 

“Any more than you already have?” Rhodes said, and yes, it was challenging.

 

Steve swallowed. He deserved that challenge, he thought. He really did. He kept saying he wasn’t going to hurt Tony, but was he really backing that up? He needed to fit his actions to those words. “I know I haven’t been the best friend to Tony in the past,” he said. He could have said, but he hasn’t been the best to me—but this wasn’t the time for Steve’s hurt. He was getting past that, putting it behind him, anyway. This was time for looking into the future, and he was determined that that future was going to be with Tony. And Tony was the one who’d just been dragged through more than a month of uncertainty because Steve couldn’t see what was right in front of his face. Both of them had done things to each other. But Steve wasn’t going to focus on that. He was going to focus on the future they had in front of them, the future they were going to have now. Because it was going to be amazing. He knew it would be. “But I’m going to change that. That’s not going to happen again.”

 

“Steve Rogers’ word is more than good enough for me,” Rhodes said, and Steve remembered himself, saying much the same thing to Tony. He hoped Rhodes meant it in the way Steve had, then, and not that he was, well, who he was, so he was special. He was tired of people looking over his faults just because of that. And he knew that given him this position partly because of that, but at least he could use this to do some good in the world. Someone had to fix the mess everything had left, the mess they’d all made for themselves. But people cutting him a pass just because he was who he was didn’t help anything. “Really,” Rhodes said. “But just . . . I mean, this whole thing that just happened—you know he thought you were just having some fun with him, right? He did tell you that?”

 

Steve couldn’t help it; he winced. Thinking about that still hurt—thinking about how badly Tony had misread things, how he must have seen everything Steve had tried to do to show him how he felt . . . he’d been thinking they were in the rose-tinted, glowing stages of a new relationship, and Tony had thought Steve had been coming to him for sex, and his feelings were worse than unwelcome, were inappropriate somehow. Steve couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been, and it seemed so unfair, that Steve had had those days of glowing happiness, and Tony had been still pining after him hopelessly. Steve had just—still, just—wanted him to be happy, and he’d already failed at that so badly.

 

But that just meant he needed to do better. He would do better. He’d known something was wrong, and he’d written it off, because he’d never been with Tony before, and he’d thought—he really had thought it might just be new relationship nerves. But he wouldn’t do that again. He’d be more careful.

 

He’d learn from this.

 

“He told me,” he managed to get out evenly enough. “He was wrong about that.”

 

“Good,” Rhodes said, his eyes searching Steve’s face, “but make sure he knows that next time, yeah?” He sighed, shook his head, relaxed his stance slightly. “Look. I know. I get it. He’s like that. It’s not easy. It’s hard to figure out what his mind is doing sometimes, what weird place his thoughts have gone off to this time. But that doesn’t mean he’s not worth it. You’d better believe that, anyway, because if you don’t, I’m really just going to have to ask you to get your hands off him and step away before you break his heart. And I’m not exaggerating about the breaking his heart thing.” His eyes were steady, and dark, and bored into Steve with an intense, fiery sincerity. His protectiveness was palpable.

 

Steve had honestly never been so glad to be threatened in his life.

 

“I believe it,” he said, with some passion of his own, because damn, did he ever believe it. He believed Tony was worth it with such certainty that it left him breathless for a second, that Tony was worth every second of the misunderstandings and bickering and even fighting, the disagreements, and the choices he didn’t understand, the self-doubt and insecurity and whatever the rest of it was that seemed to make it so hard for Tony to believe things like this, that he really was important to someone else, not just important because he alone had to fix everything that had ever gone wrong, but just because of who he was, that that person was precious, that he really was loved. “I’m not about to give up on him. Even though he’s difficult. And complicated. And . . . and he doesn’t make sense to me a lot of the time.”

 

Rhodes relaxed a little, at that, and the combative stance of his arms and shoulders eased back. He smiled, just a bit, his mouth curving more warmly. “Yeah, okay, that sounds about right,” he said. “You sound like you’ve got a handle on things. But this, this is your free screw-up, okay? Now you know—that he’s like this, whatever. All that. You know he does stuff like this, that he’ll undercut himself, and you, too, if you let him start twisting stuff around. So . . . you know, and you can watch out for it, and not let him get himself so twisted up. So if this happens again, you know I’m going to have to hunt you down, teach you a lesson, blah blah, the whole thing. You know it, I don’t have to say it. And,” he gave a brief, self-conscious laugh, “I really don’t want to have to do that. So don’t let me down here, okay?”

 

Steve nodded seriously. “I understand,” he said. “I . . . I’m glad, that Tony has people who will look out for him like that. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

 

Rhodes blinked. “Wow,” he said. “I get the whole is he even real thing with you sometimes, man.” He grinned a little. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I wasn’t expecting you to react like that to me threatening you.”

 

Steve couldn’t help smiling a bit himself. “It’s true,” he said. “I’m glad Tony has people who have his back.” He sighed. “I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t always have it, after all,” he said more heavily.

 

“Well,” Rhodes said, looking a bit awkward now. “Yeah. It can be tough to have Tony’s back all the time. Believe me . . . just do your best to do the right thing for him, and we’ll be fine.” He frowned and stepped forward a little, crossing his arms across his chest. “He’s one of the good guys, though,” he said, a little more fiercely, a little more intensely. “He’s a good man. Just like you. You’d better not forget that, because you’re going to disagree again. And just . . . don’t forget it.” He didn’t say the not again out loud, because, Steve thought, he was a good man, too, and a kind one, and knew he didn’t have to. They both heard it, all the same.

 

“I won’t,” he said. “And if you do, I’m going to want you to hunt me down and knock some sense into me.”

 

“Well,” Rhodey said, slowly, sounding a little dubious, but then he nodded. “It’s a deal.” He reached out with one gauntleted hand, and Steve took it, honored to clasp it, and shake on that agreement and glad, so glad, Tony had such a loyal friend in this man. Because Steve knew that he probably wasn’t always going to be perfect, either, despite his best intentions, despite his determination to do so much better than this, to be so good for Tony, and there were times when he knew a little course correction was something he needed and couldn't even see.

 

“It’s a deal,” he said, and smiled at Rhodes, full and real. The other man smiled back, and that lasted for a minute, one of understanding, before Rhodes stepped back.

 

“Look,” he said. “I have to trust you, here. I . . . you know. Tony. I care about him. And I just have to trust that you’re going to treat him okay, and not break his heart, because he’s really into you, and I don’t want to see him hurt like that. So I’m going to have to trust you. You’d better not let me down.”

 

“I won’t,” Steve said, and he meant it, with every fiber of his being.

 

“Good,” Rhodes said. “Then we’re good, you and me. Take him out to dinner at a fun place. Not a fancy one, you know? A fun one.”

 

Steve grinned. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do that.”

 

Rhodes grinned back, and gave him a salute. Steve saluted him back, and then they started off toward the rest of the team together.

 

\-----

 

Tony had never liked the phrase just one of those days—it sounded like you were claiming that there was nothing you could have done, that you’d been helpless and so you were absolved of responsibility for whatever had gone wrong, and in his experience, that was hardly ever the case.

 

That being said, that day had been pretty close to being well, one of those days. Parts of it had certainly been his own fault, of course—he still didn’t know how the mistake in the new programming code for the car had gotten past him to start with, and then he’d had to rush to a meeting he’d almost completely forgotten because the Avengers had been called into a situation in Times Square right when he’d started to get ready. He’d made it eventually, but it sure didn’t produce a good impression in investors to rush in late. As if that had set the tone for the rest of the day, things had just kept going wrong, one after the other—components breaking, arguments between the guys at Resilient, another company backing out of a deal even after the first meeting he’d probably botched. Tony felt bruised and battered by the end of the day, and not just because of the fight that morning, which had sent him flying through a sheet of drywall. The armor could take it, of course, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt at the time, especially when he hadn’t entirely healed from the last fun little series of explosions. (Almost, Extremis was still doing a pretty good job despite not really working properly, and the fact that he still hadn’t been able to do that routine bit of maintenance on the system to figure out the little glitches he was still getting with Bleeding Edge, but not entirely, so he still had those last vestiges of burns and bruises hanging around.) 

 

Pepper asked him about Steve as he was leaving, and that made him swallow a little, self-conscious. She just looked curious, though, and a little concerned, but it was the hopeful look on her face that made Tony stop, tell her about how things were actually going—that he and Steve were for real now, and even if he’d kind of screwed it up, Steve didn’t seem to mind. She hugged him, and he couldn’t help smiling at that, a little bemused as he hugged her back, trying not to get too much sweat on her, the scent of her shampoo fresh and vanilla-sweet in his nose. So that had actually been one really nice thing in a crappy day. But he was still exhausted by the time he left, and his head was aching.

 

It still came down to him, at the end of the day, but he knew was slowing down, dragging and exhausted and he probably looked just awful by the time he came back to the Tower. He got himself up to the living room, and then hesitated, wondering if he should just go on up to change and shower. He was in a mood, too, short-tempered and impatient, he knew that.

 

But Steve might be in the living room, he thought, and the lure of that . . . it was powerful. He still felt a little awkward for how badly he’d misunderstood things—Steve must have been expecting so much more attention and affection than Tony had given him, dates, and dinner that Tony realized was a date, and actual effort on his part—all the things he’d wanted so badly to do with him, that he would have pulled out all the stops for if he’d only known, and he really was going to have to try his best to make it up to him, now that he knew. He should probably say hello to him, he thought, he wouldn’t want Steve to think Tony had come back and ignored him. Even if Tony was a little sweaty and rumpled and tired. That probably wouldn’t matter so much, especially if he just stopped in to say hi.

 

Of course, Steve might not even be there, though he did like to sit in the living room, where people would come and go and pass through, and he could see them, get a sense of where they were and what they were doing. He’d always liked to be able to keep an eye on the team, and being off the team, officially, hadn’t changed that at all—in fact, Tony thought that had made Steve want to keep track of how they were doing just that little bit more. Tony sighed at himself for hesitating this much over something so simple, going around and around in his head, and started into the living room.

 

Sure enough, there Steve was, on the sofa, one foot, minus his boots, propped up on the coffee table in front of him, a stack of paperwork beside it and more on his lap. Tony just stood there by the doorway for a moment, looking at him, the way the light glinted off his blond hair and the width of his shoulders, slumped just slightly as he bent over the paperwork, the sight of his stockinged feet, comfortable and relaxed, tugging at something in the pit of his stomach. He still couldn't quite believe that this man had chosen him, actually wanted to be with him, in a real relationship—he wondered if he’d jumped to conclusions, before, because it was so hard to believe that Steve would ever want him like that, and it was simply easier, and so much less terrifying, to think that this was, well, what he’d thought it was. If Steve really wanted him . . . well, then Tony could fail, and he probably would, knowing him. In all the little ways he was sure he’d already screwed up, and the bigger, more terrible ones, like the conflict just behind them, that he still felt looming over them from time to time.

 

No, he told himself. That was over. And Steve wanted him, despite all that, despite everything. That had to mean something.

 

He was going to try to make this work. Make it right. As right as it felt to be with Steve. Because it did feel right, God help him.

 

He took a deep breath and started into the room. Steve’s head came up immediately, of course, and his shoulders gave that twitch they always did when he was surprised, that meant he was half reaching for his shield, instinctively, before he relaxed. He smiled when he saw Tony. “Hi,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d be home anytime soon.”

 

“Sorry,” Tony said, swallowing. “I had to work late.”

 

“I figured,” Steve said, and smiled at him a little more as Tony continued toward him. “Come over here and sit down?” he added, shifting the stack of paperwork onto the coffee table.

 

Tony nodded and circled the couch, sitting down beside him. “I don’t want to bother you,” he said, nodding at the paperwork. “Keep on doing whatever you were doing.” He gave what even he thought was a pretty weak little smile. “Just saying hi.”

 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Steve said, still looking at him, and lifted one hand to curl it, warm and wonderfully heavy, at the back of Tony’s neck. “Long day at work?” he asked, sympathy in his tone. “I was a little worried after you ran off to that meeting before you even got checked out.”

 

“I ran a scan in the armor,” Tony said, which was true. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Was it a long day?” His thumb rubbed along Tony’s hairline, and something in his shoulders started to unknot despite himself.

 

“Yeah,” he said, an admission, trying to cover it with a laugh. “Kinda.”

 

“Mmm,” Steve said, and his hand started rubbing circles on the back of Tony’s neck, now. “You look tired.”

 

“I’m fine,” Tony said. “I was thinking of taking a shower, but . . . .” He trailed off. But he didn’t want to pull away, now. The thought of just sitting here with Steve was so appealing.

 

“You can stay,” Steve said.

 

“I don’t want to bother you, though,” Tony sighed, bracing his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward over them.

 

Steve curled his arm around his shoulders, easily, and hugged him close. “You’re not,” he said, and kissed the top of his head.

 

“You were working,” Tony pointed out, but he was tired, and the thought of just staying here for a while . . . he sighed and let his head rest on Steve’s shoulder, ducking it down to avoid his eyes, because this was so . . . intimate and, and, well, needy, it was a little embarrassing. Steve’s hand moved back up to his neck, holding him there gently.

 

It was stupid to make Steve worry about him, he had so many more important things to handle, and Tony was being selfish. But the way Steve’s thumb rubbed gently against the back of his neck, the contented noise he made as he picked up the next set of papers—maybe he didn’t mind so much, and maybe Tony wasn’t really interrupting. Maybe he could just stay here for a while, while Steve worked—they’d done it the other way, and if he wasn’t bothering him . . . and he wouldn’t bother Steve, either, he’d be quiet, wasn’t planning to do much other than sit here . . . .

 

He already felt so much better, as if the frustrations and struggles of the day were long behind him now. After a moment, Steve’s hand skimmed down over his back, curled around his waist, holding him steady, and he leaned his head against Tony’s. “Long day for me, too,” he said, with a bit of a laugh, and gave a wry grin down at Tony. “Mostly . . . paperwork.”

 

Tony laughed, and let his hand rest on Steve’s stomach, then skimmed up over his chest before he curled it against his side. “If I could help you out against your greatest nemesis, I would,” he told him.

 

“I know,” Steve said, smiling at him fondly now. “That’s all right. It’s just tiring. I think I know how you felt, all these years, a little better now.”

 

“I’m used to it, though,” Tony said. “But yeah, it was never my favorite.”

 

“Mmm,” Steve said, still smiling, rubbing his back lightly. “You’re used to this torture? What a horrible fate. What have they done to you?”

 

Tony laughed. “You just wait,” he said, and kissed Steve lightly—and froze, just for a moment, out of habit, awkwardly, before he remembered that this was fine, just fine, it was okay for him to do this, it always had been, and made the kiss a little firmer, just for one more second, to remind himself.

 

Steve curled his arm around the back of his neck and leaned into it, kissing him back, firmly, bringing him in solidly against his chest, and Tony felt hot and dizzy with the relief, the heady thrill of it, when he pulled back again. Steve looked at him a moment, then brought his hand up, brushed his fingers back along Tony’s jaw, and leaned in to kiss him once more, this time more slowly, longer, softer. Tony leaned into it this time, rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder as the kiss drew out, long and dizzyingly sweet and slow. When Steve pulled away and braced his hand against Tony’s jaw, smoothing his thumb over his cheekbone, Tony’s head was swimming a little. Steve was just looking at him, and Tony bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he didn’t look that great, he had to look as run-down and tired as he felt. 

 

He tried to make a joke of it anyway. “Like what you see?” he asked.

 

Steve smiled a little. “Sure do,” he said. “You know I always do.” He smiled a little more, tilted his head toward Tony a little. “Tony, hey . . . thanks for sitting with me.”

 

He had that gift of sincerity, and he was really bringing it to bear right now. Even though Tony couldn’t see why Steve was thanking him for that, of all things. “Um, well, yeah,” he said, thrown off-balance. “Sure.” Steve moved his hand back again, onto his neck, and then rubbed, firmly, squeezing a little, and Tony had to bite back a ragged gasp.

 

Steve dug his fingers into Tony’s back, just between his shoulder blades, and Tony almost whimpered. “This feels pretty tight,” Steve said, almost conversationally. He pulled at Tony’s hip, got him partly turned around, and Tony just . . . let him, let him tilt Tony’s head forward with one hand on the top of his head and with the other squeeze the back of his neck, rubbing firmly and slowly.

 

“I’m all right,” he said, but it was a token protest, and he closed his mouth on a groan as Steve simply continued slowly rubbing at the nape of his neck.

 

“I know,” Steve said, simply. “But it feels good, anyway. You do this for me all the time.”

 

Tony had to admit that was true, at least. He liked doing things like this for Steve, liked it a lot.

 

“And I don’t even get muscles as tight as someone without the serum would,” Steve continued, moving his hand up to start massaging just under Tony’s ears. His hand was so big and warm that it felt like it was covering all of Tony’s neck, and he shuddered, let his breath out despite himself.

 

“Oh, God, Steve,” he said, helplessly.

 

“So let me do this for you, for a change,” Steve said, more quietly, digging the heel of his hand in against the base of Tony’s neck, against his spine. “Is that a good, oh, God, or not?”

 

Tony gave a low grunt of pleasure despite chewing on his bottom lip to keep quiet. “Yeah,” he managed. “It’s good. I’m all sweaty, though, and . . . .”

 

“I don’t mind a little sweat,” Steve said. They sat in silence for a few moments as he worked on the back of Tony’s neck, and then, to Tony’s surprise, he slid his hand gently down over his neck, down his back, and then put his hands on Tony’s sides, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, now warm and loose from his hands. Tony shuddered a little at that, too. “Better?” Steve asked, his hands coming up, rubbing at Tony’s shoulders lightly.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Tony asked with a slight laugh.

 

“Mmm, not at the moment,” Steve said, sounding amused, and leaving another soft kiss against the skin of his neck.

 

“That was amazing,” Tony told him, sincerely.

 

“Good,” Steve said, simply that. “I’m not quite done.” He brought his fingers up over Tony’s back, digging them in against his spine in the small of Tony’s back and rubbing there in circles, before slowly working his hands up over Tony’s back in stages. Tony almost moaned—if it hadn’t been so completely non-sexual, it would have been obscene how good that felt, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a massage without paying for it. Steve had such big, warm, strong hands, and Tony ended up with no idea of how long Steve had spent on his back, or how long he’d spent on his neck once he got back up to it, rubbing and massaging, because even his time sense was helpless under that pure physical pleasure and relief. When Steve finally finished with him, let go and wrapped his arms around Tony’s stomach, he tilted his head back to grin at him.

 

“Mmm,” he said. “I can’t believe you. That was incredible.”

 

Steve smiled a little, blushed and looked down. “C’mon,” he said. “Just returned the favor.” He squeezed Tony a little more, then let go with one arm to settle the other around his waist, tug him into his side. “So,” he said, easily enough. “Do you want to watch a movie?

 

“I don’t think so,” Tony sighed. He just wanted to sit here, with Steve, and watch him work, really. By this point, he felt too incredibly relaxed to want to do anything else, practically like he was melting into the sofa cushions as he sat there. He could feel himself starting to sprawl, sinking down into them, and didn’t care. A thought occurred to him, then, though, and he shrugged. “Unless you want to.”

 

“Nah,” Steve said. “I’m good.”

 

“Mmm,” Tony said, and rested his head against Steve’s shoulder again, shifting a little so he could look out at the rest of the room. Steve moved to accommodate him, still stroking his back with one hand while he flipped through papers with the other. 

 

This was really nice, Tony thought. It had been a long time since he’d done something like this. Just sat in one place and relaxed—let alone with someone else to put an arm around him, to kiss him or rub his neck, or his back.

 

It was still insane to think that it was Steve, of all people, he was doing this with, who was gently rubbing his hand over his back right now, breath ruffling Tony’s hair from time to time. At one point he asked Tony to help him with a frustrating passage of legalese—which even Tony had to admit was pretty tangled, and they picked it apart for a while together, laughing a bit at the ridiculousness, even after Tony teased Steve about revealing secrets he wasn’t supposed to be giving out. Steve just frowned and said that it wasn’t like he didn’t trust Tony, anyway, which made Tony’s heart seize and clench in his chest. He tried to cover it, though.

 

It was later, Tony still resting beside Steve on the sofa, head on his shoulder, that he worked up the guts to ask. “You said you trusted me,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding surprised. His hand curled around Tony’s side. “Of course.”

 

“Oh,” Tony said. Asking him if he was sure seemed stupid. “Even . . . I mean, because I . . . well, you know. Uh. Yeah?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said, looking at him a little like he was still trying to interpret that, then he shrugged. “We can get into it some other time, if that’s hard for you to believe. But yes, I trust you.” He hesitated, then said, in a lower voice, still looking down at the papers on his lap, “Do you trust me?”

 

“What?” Tony said. “Of course, I—what?”

 

Steve swallowed. “All right,” he said, and pressed a soft kiss against Tony’s forehead. “Understood.”

 

“Of course I trust you, Steve,” Tony said, a little more strongly, wanting to make his point.

 

“Well, good,” Steve said, quietly, and tugged him a bit closer, his hand coming up to rub at the back and side of Tony’s neck again, softly. 

 

Tony sighed and let himself lean against Steve again, let it go. “So,” he said. “How much of this do you actually have to do?”

 

“All of it,” Steve said with a sheepish grin. “I’ve maybe been putting it off.”

 

Tony shook his head. “Wow,” he said. “I’m sorry. You have my sympathies.”

 

“Mmm, don’t be sorry,” Steve said. “It’ll go a lot quicker with you here.” He flushed a little and looked down.

 

“I could try and help, if it’s not giving away state secrets, or anything,” Tony said, pushing his sleeves up around his elbows.

 

“No, you just take it easy,” Steve said, squeezing his neck a little, again, lower down, palm against his shoulder. “I just want the company.”

 

“Just sit here, boring and useless,” Tony said wryly.

 

Steve laughed a little. “Not boring,” he said, “and not useless, either. Jeez, Tony.” He brought his hand up, tousled Tony’s hair a little over the back of his head.

 

“You say that now,” Tony said, but he grinned and let himself rest against Steve’s shoulder again.

 

“How could you ever be boring?” Steve asked, smiling at him and shaking his head as he reached for the next few sheets of paper on the stack.

 

“It’s pretty easy, you know,” Tony told him.

 

Steve smiled and shook his head. “Not for you,” he said. “I mean . . .” he looked at Tony a little, then shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve seen you really relax in a long time.”

 

There was a good reason for that. Tony sighed. “And I should still be working,” he said. “Don’t they say that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, old-timer?”

 

Steve gave him a wry smile. “In my experience, people who have a lot to do often have a lot to say for themselves,” he said. “Don’t know what that says about me, but you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

 

“I’m more interesting than Reed Richards, at least,” Tony said with a laugh, “if by interesting you mean appears in the tabloids more often.”

 

“That is not what I mean,” Steve said firmly, then grinned a little. “But you are, if that helps. More interesting, that is.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Tony said. “By the sales rate of tabloids I think you’re in the minority there.”

 

Steve flushed lightly. “What you get up to in bed, with me,” he said, stressing the last word just slightly, “sure as heck is interesting to me, but I don’t care what they say about you or what you’ve gotten up to. You’re an interesting person, and you have a mind so brilliant that I just . . . gosh, it’s an honor just to watch it sometimes, Tony, you know that? And you’re funny, and clever, and charming and . . . don’t go thinking that getting people to talk about you is the only thing that makes you interesting. That just goes to show that some people have prurient minds that would be better spent paying attention to their own business.” He was clearly in speech mode now, and Tony felt his own face heating up at the passion in his voice, the amount he cared about this. And the fact that he’d just said something about them having sex and wow anyone could have walked in and heard them, and it wasn’t that Tony minded, it had just been so unexpected, and Steve didn’t want to keep that secret at all? Really? And everything he’d said, he was so . . . it was so . . . . He took a deep, shaking breath.

 

“Thanks,” he said, low. “I . . . I get it.”

 

Steve smiled at him, a little embarrassedly, bashful. “I am in love with you, you know,” he said after a minute.

 

Tony looked back at him a moment, then nodded, smiled, still feeling a little over-warm. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” He reached out and touched Steve’s face, just very gently. “I got that.”

 

“Just reminding you,” Steve said, a little huffily, which he belied by turning his head, pressing a little kiss to the base of Tony’s palm. “You keep acting like you’re forgetting.”

 

“I’m not,” Tony said. “I just . . . .” He swallowed. It was hard to believe? He shouldn’t get involved? He hurt people when he did? He didn’t deserve this? He shouldn’t have accepted it?

 

He loved Steve, too.

 

“I don’t forget,” he said, thickly. Steve’s eyes were still on him, patient, and a bit questioning, and Tony swallowed, felt himself flush even more. “I—I love you, too,” he said, quickly, and looked down.

 

“Mmm,” Steve said, almost considering sounding, but still warm for all that. He kissed Tony’s palm again, then reached out, curved his fingers around Tony’s jaw, held him like that just for a brief moment, brushing his thumb along his beard. “I know,” he said.

 

Tony took a shaking, uneven breath. “Just so you do,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “’Course I do, sweetheart.” Tony’s chest tightened at the nickname, twisting, seizing up. Steve smiled a little. “I’m just saying. Wouldn’t have fallen in love if you weren’t interesting, now, would I?”

 

Tony let himself breathe again, the tightness loosening in his chest. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” he said, trying to sound light, teasing.

 

Steve laughed. “Oh, you shush,” he said. “I’m lucky I got you, you know. Gonna have to beat ‘em off.”

 

Tony had to laugh at that. “Oh, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and giving Steve an amused look, gesturing at himself. “This is a hot commodity for sure. Failing businessman and traitor to the Skrulls right here, the most hated man in America, hot stuff.” And on top of the rest of it, how many people could barely stand to look at him now, and for good reason, and how he was only slowly repairing that, he was just . . . he wasn’t in the best shape of his life, he’d lost a lot of weight and it was hard gaining that back, a slow process at best, he was scarred and damaged, back to having a big hunk of metal and tech in his chest, and was nothing at all compared to Steve’s gorgeous physique—but Steve had seen all that, and he didn’t seem to be put off by it, so Tony figured he must be doing something right there, at least.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, and he was gritting his teeth. “Don’t even—how can you say those, those awful things. Those lies people told about you—” He swallowed, took a deep breath, clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t they upset you?” he said, and then turned toward Tony fully. “How dare they,” he said. “Don’t you repeat that disgusting propaganda.” His face twisted, as if upset by the thought. “Don’t tell me you believe it.”

 

“I’m just saying,” Tony said, surprised and a little wrong-footed by that reaction. He was afraid he sounded brusque and tried to gentle his voice, “That’s the public opinion, I’m not really a hot item right now.”

 

“Well,” Steve said, and God, he sounded upset, there Tony went putting his damn foot in his mouth again—even as he gave him a slightly trembling smile, his voice determinedly bright, light, “they don’t deserve you, anyway. They’ll figure out what they’re missing, and then I’ll be able to say I knew it while they were still pulling their heads out of their rears, won’t I?”

 

“Um,” Tony said. He forced a smile back at Steve. “It doesn’t matter to me, honey,” he said. “You think I’m okay, that’s all I really need.” And Rhodey, and Pepper, and the others, the team . . . but Steve’s opinion was a big part of that, always had been, and more now . . . even more now that they were together.

 

Together. Really together. The thought still made his throat seize up, made him feel a little dizzy.

 

Steve gave a little smile at that, but it was kind of sad, too. “Tony,” he said, but that was all he said.

 

“It’s true,” Tony said defensively, a little stung.

 

“No, I know,” Steve said. “I know.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said, his turn to be a little huffy. “Because it’s true, and I mean, I’m already with you, what more does a guy need? I mean, really. Damn.” He wasn’t so selfish and greedy as to demand any more than something that wonderful—what did Steve think he was, anyway?

 

Steve blushed. “Jeez, Tony,” he said, and looked down, but he was smiling a little.

 

“Aw, modest,” Tony teased, leaning in a little. “What, you don’t like it when I say that you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread?”

 

“We had sliced bread in my time,” Steve said, and he was trying to keep back a laugh, Tony could tell.

 

“Now, are you sure?” Tony asked him. “Are you sure you didn’t have to slice it yourself? Or are you so amazing that you invented pre-sliced bread, Captain?”

 

“Tony,” Steve said, but he was really laughing now, “stop that.”

 

“What, teasing you?” Tony asked. “Calling you Captain?” He smirked, leaned in a little further, sliding his arms around Steve’s neck. “Oh Captain, my Captain, our ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won.”

 

Steve was still laughing. “No, it hasn’t, and it isn’t,” he said. “I still have to finish that paperwork. Stop abusing Whitman.”

 

“He abused me in school,” Tony said with a grin.

 

“He’s a great American poet,” Steve said loyally.

 

“Gay as hell, too, they say,” Tony added, just to see Steve blush.

 

Which he did, very red. “Which doesn’t make a bit of difference, Tony,” he said.

 

“It makes his poetry more interesting, anyway,” Tony said. “Especially in this context. My Captain.” He leaned in, let his lips brush against Steve’s pulse in his neck. “I know what prize I have in mind,” he said, very low, into his ear.

 

“Seducing me with poetry is a new one for you,” Steve said, skimming his hands lightly up Tony’s sides, even as he shivered as Tony’s breath blew across his neck and his lips trailed along his skin, tilting his head slightly to the side and back.

 

“I have to keep trying new things,” Tony said, pressing another soft kiss into the hinge of Steve’s jaw. “I wouldn’t want to get boring, after all.”

 

“I told you, it’s not like you could ever do that,” Steve said.

 

“Just wait and see,” Tony said. He sat back a little, but left his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “We haven’t been together that long. I’m still new and exciting to you. Give it time.” That was what happened, after all, right? Tony was like a shiny new toy right now, so he seemed fun and interesting, but that shininess couldn’t cover up all his character defects and flaws for long. He just wasn’t that interesting when it came right down to it. Just not . . . that good a partner.

 

Everyone thought so. Hell, Pepper thought so. He swallowed and looked down.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, and his hands firmed up a little, he leaned in, pressed a kiss to the top of Tony’s cheekbone. “Stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking about,” he said softly. “It’s not like that.”

 

“Sure it is,” Tony murmured.

 

“No,” Steve said, firmly. “It isn’t. I’m not going to get tired of you, for one thing.” One hand slid around, pressed into the small of Tony’s back. “Hell, I haven’t gotten tired of you yet, have I?” he asked with a smile. “I’ve known you for what, more than ten years?”

 

Tony swallowed. He supposed he had a point. “Not like this,” he pointed out.

 

“This is supposed to make you less appealing to me?” Steve asked, and he squeezed Tony’s ass. He really did. Tony jumped and stared at him, and Steve blushed but didn’t move his hand. He just grinned and nosed into Tony’s hair, then left a kiss just above his temple. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he murmured into Tony’s ear. “And I’m pretty stubborn.”

 

“I’m not the one who needs to worry about that,” Tony said, swallowing. He looked straight ahead, at the wall. “I get too attached and . . . clingy, but I’m too distant and I spend too much time in the lab, but I’m . . . jealous, and I’m not good at letting go. And I . . . .”

 

“I’ll decide what I need to worry about,” Steve said.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, and looked down, then away, shrugging. “Sorry. I’m just . . . saying.”

 

“Who told you all that?” Steve asked. Tony shrugged again. “Not the sort of thing you usually come up with yourself,” Steve added, his voice serious, and well, actually kind of dire.

 

Tony tried a smile anyway. “You know how many failed relationships I’ve had?” he said. “You pick up a few things.”

 

There was a moment of quiet, and then Steve kissed the top of his ear. “I don’t mind you getting attached, Tony,” he said. “Or you ignoring me and spending time in the lab. And I like it when you call me . . . things.” When Tony looked up, he was bright red, but he was smiling, so sweet and genuine, just a little self-conscious, that it took Tony’s breath away.

 

“Call you things,” Tony said, and started to smile himself.

 

“Mmhm,” Steve said. “Y’know, like . . . .”

 

“Baby?” Tony suggested. “Honey?” He curled his arms around Steve’s neck again, grinning at him. “Sweetheart? Sweetie. Cupcake. Sugar. Apple pie slice. Hot stuff? Gorgeous, because holy shit, Steve, you really are. Sunshine.”

 

Steve bit his lip and looked down, but he was bright red in the cheeks, and it was the most adorable thing. “It’s my pleasure, sunshine,” Tony said, cupping his hands at his jaw and kissing his forehead, and it was honestly true.

 

Steve swallowed. “I do like that one,” he said softly.

 

“It fits you,” Tony said, and it was true. Steve blushed and shook his head, looking down to the side, and Tony smiled and brushed his hair back out of his eyes. “It does,” he said, and Steve just grinned.

 

“You’re a sweetheart,” he said. “You can’t fool me, Tony Stark.”

 

“Wanna bet?” Tony teased.

 

Steve shook his head and took his head in his hands. “Never again,” he said, and tilted their foreheads together, just for a minute. He took a deep breath, then let go.

 

“You see right through me,” Tony said, letting his hands rest on Steve’s shoulders, and Steve smiled.

 

“It goes both ways, I guess,” he said, and smiled a little more, skimming his hands down along Tony’s neck. He stayed there for a moment, just looking at him, and the look in his eyes—Tony thought he’d always feel a little dizzy at that look in Steve’s eyes, could just gaze into it for hours, never get tired of seeing it. They stayed there for a moment, then Steve sighed, brushing Tony’s neck with his fingers. “I should probably . . . .”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Finish that paperwork.”

 

“Mmm,” Steve said. “You’re staying here, though, right?” His hand slid down, curled around Tony’s side again.

 

Tony had actually been planning to get up and take that shower, but it was hard to resist that offer? Question? Whatever it was. He subsided into Steve’s encircling arm. “Sure,” he said. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

 

Steve beamed, and damn but it was hard to resist that smile.

 

Yeah, Tony thought to himself, committing it to memory. Sunshine.

 

After a moment, Steve looked down, smile turning bashful, then tugged him in close against his side again, and Tony willingly let himself rest there, settling into the back of the sofa.

 

As long as Steve didn’t mind, this was better than a shower, anyway.

 

\-----

 

It was amazing how much less the paperwork felt like drudgery with Tony there, his body warm and steady against Steve’s, the slight scent of warm sweat and cologne and metal and the soft tangle of his hair against Steve’s skin. The way he’d just settled in against Steve’s shoulder, rested his head there, the way he fit against him—even if he was tall and a little lanky and muscular, he somehow seemed to fit just perfect even so—made Steve feel warm, all through, and so did the relaxation he could feel starting to spread through Tony’s muscles. He’d been expecting a little more of a fight to get him to sit down, kick back, and it had made him feel, well, pretty special, to get to see this side of Tony, that he would relax like this with him. It made him feel relieved, too, tender—it was good to see Tony so comfortable with him. After everything—after the misunderstanding they’d had. He’d been . . . worried, especially when Tony had seemed to think he’d screwed up somehow by not realizing that Steve wanted more than just sex from him. The way Steve saw it, that wasn’t his fault at all, it was Steve’s, for not having been more clear, for not telling him earlier that he loved him, for God’s sake, when he’d known it all along. Tony getting the wrong idea meant that he’d gone about it wrong, had to, not that Tony had screwed up somehow.

 

He’d been so good to Steve—even with him thinking this was casual, he’d been so good to him, so well, in love—and it still hurt Steve to know that however he’d treated Tony, he hadn’t felt that in return.

 

He wanted him to feel it, now. He knew he wasn’t always the most expressive partner, but . . . he wanted Tony to feel as loved as he felt, even right now, at this very moment, with Tony rubbing his thigh, looking at him fondly, with a little private smile on his face—Steve didn’t think Tony even realized Steve was looking at him, or how special that made Steve feel, just to see it, that expression on Tony’s face. He pulled Tony a little closer with that arm he had around him and pressed another kiss into his hair, and he saw Tony smile a little, almost self-consciously, and duck his head down.

 

Steve could only hope that this would help—help Tony believe that this was real. Steve had time to make up for. He wanted to get started. 

 

He knew Tony could get antsy at receiving too much attention, so he had to be careful, but there had to be some way to make how Steve felt for him clear, clearer than it had been up until then, that was for sure. Tony always looked a little like Steve had just hit him across the face when Steve said he loved him, still, surprised and winded, and . . . Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He always looked so uncomfortable. 

 

Steve still figured he’d say it every once in a while, just to remind him that it was true, and was going to continue to be true, but other ways to make him believe in the kind of feelings Steve had for him seemed like a better plan, overall. Sort of a . . . a multi-pronged attack, except, well, not an attack, at all. Something that would get Tony to believe it without making him feel awkward, or uncomfortable. Because he wanted Tony to be comfortable with him.

 

He wanted him to be as happy as he was.

 

Tony pressed another kiss to Steve’s neck, and Steve squeezed him a little closer, even as Tony shifted a bit, raised his head again. They stayed there for a while, Tony talking a little, first about the team, then more generally, making observations that made Steve laugh (and sometimes blush). Tony was so funny, a lot of the time, and so clever and quick, and relaxed he was funnier, warmer, not trying quite so hard—it was fun to sit here and spend time with him when they didn’t have much to do. He didn’t know what Tony was thinking, saying Steve was going to get tired of him. It was ridiculous. Way more likely to happen the other way around, if it did happen—Steve wasn’t half as clever or funny as Tony was. Steve always felt a warm little glow of achievement whenever he made Tony laugh or smile in return. 

 

And having his warm breath close to his ear, the weight of him at his shoulder, didn’t help on the not-blushing front all that much, that was for sure, but it also sent little tendrils of warmth curling through Steve, settling in his stomach. He felt like a kid again sometimes, with Tony, like the kid he had been when the Avengers had found him in the ice, brought him into this century, and the thought that Tony loved him made him feel giddy and a little overwhelmed. He thought he’d had it bad before, but that had been when Tony was trying to hide how he felt. Now—now, God, Steve saw that he hadn’t realized how having Tony really with him like this could be. Tony smiling at him like that gave him soft, warm little flutters in his stomach, Tony touching him made him feel hot and flushed in the face, Tony looking at him with his eyes soft like that made his stomach turn over and his chest tighten in the best way possible.

 

And Steve had thought he’d had a real thing for Tony during his first days of infatuation with Tony back in the mansion. Now he realized he’d had no idea. Just the rush of warm, protective feeling he got from having his arm around Tony, the tightness in his chest from the way Tony smelled when Steve let his face rest against his hair, just like this, shampoo and light fresh male cologne with a touch of metal and tired sweat, was a little dizzying. The affection that welled up inside him when Tony started rambling, hands moving and eyes bright with interest, or babbling randomly until Steve did something to cut him off—he’d never tested it out, but he was pretty sure he could have gone for hours like that, talking himself in circles. Even the opposite of that, the way he could get so intense, so wrapped up in a project, focused and silent so that Steve was pretty sure nothing short of an explosion could get his attention, gave him a warm fond feeling. Tony was brilliant, after all, and Steve loved that about him, his fantastic genius that Steve would never be able to entirely follow or entirely understand. Tony would sometimes apologize for getting caught up in it, or absorbed, but Steve didn’t mind. He didn’t mind if he rambled about tech and engineering, either. Sure, he didn’t always follow, but it was part of who Tony was. Steve loved that about him, too.

 

Steve brought his hand up under the back of Tony’s shirt, where it had come loose from his slacks, rubbing his thumb against the warm skin along his spine, and Tony shivered a little, breathed out a sigh. He shifted forward, turned to reach for him with one hand, skimming it up his thigh, but Steve just pulled him back—he didn’t mean anything by it, just wanted to touch Tony’s skin with his. After a moment Tony sighed and settled again, letting Steve run his hand along his back, leaning back into it.

 

“That feels nice,” he offered after another moment, glancing up at Steve sideways, his mouth quirking a little in that way it did when he wasn’t sure of himself but didn’t really want to show it.

 

“Mmm, it does, doesn’t it?” Steve said, smiling at him. “I can stop if it’s bugging you.”

 

“No,” Tony said, smiling a little more. “Not bugging me.”

 

“I’m glad,” Steve said, skimmed his hand up a bit more. The dip of Tony’s spine showed how slim he was, comparatively, but also held a lot of muscle—he could feel the firmness of it, the strength under his fingertips. It felt good. And the way Tony relaxed against him again, muscles loosening up until he was back in that easy sprawl from before, just with Steve’s hand on his back against his bare skin—that felt good, too. He’d gained some weight, just over the past few weeks, and Steve liked to think he’d had something to do with that, with Tony eating more regular, working out with him. It’d been so fun to practice with him again—he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed those regular workouts and sparring sessions.

 

Tony worried him sometimes, acting like he had been. Like Steve would get bored of him, like it was a given, acting like he knew all about relationships and how bad he was at them. He was a little clueless sometimes, sure, but then, so was Steve; case in point, all the stuff he’d missed with Tony being so horribly confused about what was going on between them. Steve knew he wasn’t one to talk, so he wasn’t sure why Tony thought he’d get bent out of shape just because Tony blew him off a few times or was a little clingy. He could only figure that he’d been treated like that before, and . . . that kind of made him want to find the people who’d treated Tony like that and give them a talking to. Tony deserved better than to think Steve was going to be put off by a few human flaws.

 

And if by clingy he meant the way he sometimes curled up tight around Steve in the middle of the night and burrowed his face in between his shoulders, or sought him out to spend times like these with him . . . well, then he wasn’t the only one who was a little clingy, and Steve didn’t expect that’d change much, and he didn’t want it to. He’d always liked spending time with Tony. He didn’t expect it . . . but he liked it. So really, either way was going to be fine with him.

 

Sure, was Tony going to annoy him in the future, make him angry? Of course he was; Steve was sure he would. Were they going to fight? Hell yeah, of course they would, it was who they were. Steve knew that. But it happened. They’d always had their arguments. It wasn’t going to ruin what they had. Not again. Steve was going to make certain of that much. 

 

He wasn’t talking about his determination in that area with Tony, too afraid that he would feel pressured, somehow. But he hoped Tony realized that there was no way Steve was going to give up on him that easily. He’d gotten too lucky with him to throw it away after one argument, over one annoying habit. He knew Tony. He knew what he was getting into. Hell, he’d known what he looked like naked for years, and what sleeping positions made him snore, and what little things gave him a hissy fit he tried to pass off as righteous indignation. Steve knew what he was getting into, and he wasn’t worried. He didn’t regret it for a second, if that was Tony was afraid of. Steve was his own man, and he made his own decisions, and if someday in the future he and Tony did separate he still wasn’t going to regret it, because being with Tony wasn’t something to regret.

 

But he sure wasn’t planning on it. He looked down at Tony, even as he sighed and shifted to rest his head more heavily on Steve’s shoulder, hiding a little bit of a yawn against his own. His hair was trailing forward into his eyes and his shirt was unbuttoned, his tie loose, so that Steve could see the top edge of the RT. He looked tired and rumpled and utterly endearing.

 

And yeah, Steve sure wasn’t planning on letting this slip away from him. 

 

He brought his fingers up, combed them through Tony’s hair a bit—it was getting a lot longer, and he was privately pleased to see it—he’d always liked it longer like this, rather than cropped short, so you could see the little hint of curl it had, just long enough for him to curl his fingers into it.

 

Tony made a pleased, sleepy little sound and raised his hand to brush it over Steve’s. “I was thinking of scheduling a haircut,” he said, “but they’re expensive, and I haven’t really had time.”

 

“You don’t need to do that,” Steve said, smiling a little sheepishly. “I like it like this.” He curled his fingers in a little more, tugged lightly. “I like it when it starts to curl a little.”

 

“I can’t believe you actually pay that much attention to my hair,” Tony said, smiling himself. “But okay. Roger that. I’ll leave it. It’ll save me money, anyway.” He let his fingers settle against Steve’s.

 

“Of course I pay attention,” Steve said, twirling one of the strands that was just long enough to be the beginnings of a curl around his finger. How else would he be able to draw him?

 

Tony blinked a little, his fingers twining with Steve’s as he turned his hand to let them. “Um,” he said, and grinned, though a little uncertainly, Steve thought. “Right.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention to you?” Steve asked, a little amused now. “D’you think you’re not good looking or something?”

 

“I just . . .” Tony shrugged, his face crinkling up with amusement, too. “I don’t know, it’s my hair.”

 

“It’s pretty hair,” Steve said, grinning at him and put down his pen for a moment, reaching out to tousle it with his other hand.

 

“Don’t mess it up, then,” Tony said, but he was laughing, and he hadn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

 

“I like it better messed up,” Steve said, combing it back just to tousle it again. Tony made a face at him, but didn’t really protest, and Steve kept stroking his hair after a moment, and Tony sighed, shifted a little in a way that nudged against his hand just very slightly, and Steve smiled at him. “What?” he said.

 

“You keep yours all short,” Tony said. “These days, anyway.”

 

Steve shrugged. It had just seemed easier, since . . . since he’d come back. He ran a hand back over it, considering. “It’s easy,” he said after a second. “Doesn’t take any time to fool with it.” He nudged Tony playfully with one elbow. “You spend about forever in the bathroom anyhow.”

 

“Hey,” Tony said, and laughed. “How do you think I get what little rakish charm I have left?” he asked, grinning wryly.

 

“You don’t need to primp for that,” Steve told him.

 

“Says you,” Tony said. He squeezed his hand, brought it down against his shoulder, still smiling at him. “You’re a little biased, I’m starting to think, Rogers.”

 

“So what if I am?” Steve said. “You’re my guy, it’s allowed.”

 

“So I’ll keep using product in my hair, honeymuffin,” Tony said, but his smile was so fond it made Steve’s heart speed up a little.

 

“As long as I get to see you all casual at the end of the day,” Steve said.

 

Tony laughed. “Hon, you can mess me up any time,” he said with a wink.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve said, and he knew he was blushing. “I meant relaxed, Tony.”

 

“Afterglow is relaxed,” Tony said.

 

“Quiet, you,” Steve said.

 

“What, you don’t want me anymore?” Tony said, his eyes dancing, clearly teasing.

 

“Jeez, Tony, you’re such a pill,” Steve said, laughing. He laid one hand against his neck, leaned in, and kissed him.

 

“I try,” Tony said, gasping and grinning after the kiss, which he had returned eagerly.

 

“I know,” Steve said.

 

“Good,” Tony said. “Wow, I’m distracting you, after I said I wouldn’t.” He didn’t seem to feel too badly, which Steve could only approve of.

 

Steve smiled. “I don’t mind,” he said, and handed Tony a form. “Here, this one is routine. Translate for me from business people talk.”

 

“I can do that,” Tony said, and leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder again.

 

They stayed like that for a while longer, and Steve had to admit it—by enlisting Tony’s help, it not only was a lot more fun, because Tony would make him laugh by mocking the language used on the forms, it went a heck of a lot faster. He asked Tony if he wanted to go on up to bed as the day began to turn toward evening, but Tony shrugged and said he was good, and he seemed happy, tucked into Steve’s side—his tie and shoes had come off long ago and he was slouched comfortably on the couch.

 

“No dinner?” Steve said, disapprovingly, and Tony smiled.

 

“You hungry?” he said.

 

“I’m always hungry,” Steve said, with a bashful laugh. “You know that.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, and smiled. “I’ll get something?”

 

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “Thanks.”

 

Tony leaned down and brushed a kiss against the top of his head, clasping his shoulder lightly, then headed out. Steve smiled a little to himself and got back to work. Tony came back with a plate full of Jarvis’s sandwiches (impossible to beat ‘em, in Steve’s opinion), and two bottles of ginger ale. They ate together, sharing the potato chips dumped on the side of the plate and Steve asked about Tony’s day at work—he really was curious, whatever Tony thought. It sounded like it had been a little rough, which was confirmed by the way Tony talked about it—he wasn’t complaining, but he sounded weary. Steve was starting to get the impression it was hard to design clean energy automobiles and even harder to market them.

 

“You should make it fly,” he suggested, and Tony snickered.

 

“You and those flying cars,” he said. “Does Fury know you have a thing for his babies?”

 

“I just think they’re neat,” Steve said. “Stop trying to make me feel weird about it. They’re flying cars.”

 

“Touché,” Tony said, but he was smirking. Steve threw a potato chip at his face. “Escalation,” Tony said, brushing bits of salt out of his beard. “Uncalled for.”

 

“You asked for it,” Steve told him. “You were smirking.”

 

“Oh, yes, smirking,” Tony said. He was still doing it, too. “That heinous crime. Smirking at Captain America. Or Commander Rogers, I guess. Smirking in general. How dare I.”

 

“No one would convict me in a court of law,” Steve told him, and it didn’t even sting like it might have once to talk about being convicted of anything, after what had happened.

 

Tony laughed. “God, I hope not,” he said, and his eyes were warm and fond, and Steve knew he was thinking about his arrest, too, somehow.

 

And that was okay. It was good, to laugh about something like that, and with Tony, too.

 

“That smirk of yours is a powerful weapon,” he said. “I once saw you intimidate the Scientist Supreme into shutting up with just that.”

 

Tony laughed and almost choked on another bite of sandwich. “God, Steve,” he said, after taking a drink and breathing again. “Don’t start Chuck Norris facts about me, because I can and will retaliate.”

 

“It really happened!” Steve protested. That was clearly a pop culture reference he’d missed somewhere along the line, but he got the point. “I bet there’s a report somewhere.” He remembered it clearly, anyway. Tony could be as condescending as hell without saying a word. The poor guy hadn’t stood a chance.

 

Tony laughed. “I don’t actually remember?” he said. “I’ve smirked at a lot of Scientist Supremes over the years.”

 

“That’s for sure,” Steve allowed.

 

“It’s a secret weapon,” Tony told him. “So shh.”

 

“Oh, right,” Steve said, smiling fondly and looking down. “Secret.”

 

They managed to decimate the sandwiches completely, working together, and then Tony shifted back around to sit next to him. Steve draped his arm back around his shoulders and pulled him closer to press another kiss into his hair. Tony smiled and leaned into him a little more, even as Steve reached for the greatly depleted pile of paperwork again. He was almost done—it was ridiculous how accomplished he felt. It felt kind of like defeating the Red Skull. It really did. Tony had been joking about it being his nemesis, but . . . well.

 

He knew there would just be more soon enough, but at least he could stop feeling guilty for putting this part of it off.

 

They stayed there a while longer, and Tony eventually fell into a doze against his shoulder and the back of the couch, just for a little while. It was already getting late, Steve figured, and he couldn’t help but wonder if their dinner had been the first meal Tony had eaten all day. After he finished the paperwork—haha, take that, he thought, with an immense sense of satisfaction as he put the pen down on top of it—he turned toward him, watched him for a few minutes as he slept, gently brushing the tousled strands of his hair back off his forehead, though he only left it a few moments before he shook Tony gently awake. This time he woke with only a bit of a start, his eyes focusing on Steve rapidly.

 

“I’m going to make a cup of tea and then head to bed,” Steve said.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said, sitting up and stretching a little. “Hey!” he said, and grinned at the stack of papers. “Did you finish it?”

 

“For now,” Steve said, but he couldn’t hide how pleased he was. “Yes.”

 

“Good work,” Tony said, leaned in, took Steve’s head in his hands, and kissed him, deep and firm, with a little tongue when Steve’s lips parted beneath the kiss. “There,” he said, smiling as he pulled away. “Victory kiss. That’s a thing you do, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, knowing his voice sounded a little breathless, and smiled. “I guess it is.”

 

“Mind if I tag along to the kitchen?” Tony asked.

 

“Not at all,” Steve said. He’d actually been hoping Tony would come along. He smiled back, getting to his feet and giving Tony a hand up. They ended up spending a while in the kitchen, talking about nothing in specific while Steve made and then drank the tea that he’d bought in Seattle to help him sleep with some determination, and Tony poked around, eating handfuls of the popcorn someone had made earlier and left sitting out. He suggested Tony have a cup, too, but Tony just shrugged, repeated that he didn’t think it would work, and then said, thoughtfully, “I’ve slept a lot better lately, anyway. You’re apparently better than sleeping pills.”

 

Steve felt himself start to flush and hid it by looking down into his tea. “Well, I’m glad, then,” he said. And he was. He was glad he could help Tony, especially by something as simple as sharing his bed with him. And really, sleeping in Tony’s bed was nice, had been nice. Staying in his old room in the Tower without feeling like he belonged there, without being an Avenger, was painfully awkward anyway, and it was much nicer to be in Tony's space, Tony's room, but it was also even better than his personal quarters on the helicarrier, warm and homelike in a way they just . . . weren’t, despite his efforts to make them feel more personal. And when he woke up with nightmares, which he was still doing, pretty regular, it was so much better to have Tony there to hold him. Much better than it had been years ago, waking up alone and shaking in his big lonely bed in the mansion and lying there surrounded by the dark, heavy furniture of the old house, unable to place himself for a moment, with only his shield to grip to tightly if he needed something to hang onto, something to make him feel like he wasn’t going to fall, wasn’t going to slide right back into the ice. Tony wouldn’t even mention it sometimes, but he would hold him, and rub his arm, his shoulder, his back, until Steve could fall back asleep, and if he really needed to, Steve could wrap his arms around him, and hold on, and feel like Tony was safe.

 

It was good for both of them, he figured. At least, he was happy that Tony seemed to like sharing a bed with him as much as he liked it. He’d been spending every night he could in Tony’s bed, oftentimes without any sex, just because he was here, and . . . it was nice. To sleep together, like that.

 

He finished his tea and washed out the cup before he put it away. “Bed?” he said, and Tony grinned.

 

“Sounds good to me,” he said, and gave Steve the sort of look that made him feel a little hot under the collar.

 

They didn’t, actually, end up having sex, though. After Tony got out of the shower, they got distracted by kissing, Steve propped up against the pillows in Tony’s bed and Tony sitting next to him, his arms around his neck. They just kept going back for more kisses rather than moving on, despite hands wandering over each other’s bodies. Tony was tired, and when Steve felt him starting to slow down, he squeezed his sides a little, pressed one last kiss into his mouth, and pulled back. “Sleep?” he asked breathlessly.

 

Tony blinked a little, looking surprised. His mouth was red and very wet, swollen from their kisses. “You don’t want to—” he said, gesturing toward Steve a little with one hand.

 

“It’s already late,” Steve told him, and ran a hand back through his hair. “Just want to sleep?”

 

Tony screwed up his face, like he was pretty sure Steve was trying to get away with something weird, then shrugged and smiled again. “Okay,” he said. He curled his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him one last time, and Steve kissed him back, willingly, before he rolled over and settled himself into the pillow. Tony laid one arm over his stomach and kissed the skin just behind his ear, making him shiver pleasantly, then murmured, “Good night, gorgeous,” in his ear.

 

Steve smiled. “Good night, Tony,” he said, and when he did drift off to sleep not too long after, after their slow conversation had faded off sleepily, he did it with Tony’s arm wrapped comfortably around his waist, hand resting on his chest.

 

He woke up with a shuddering start and a cry, sweating and desperate. It was one of the older dreams this time, wandering through the Red Skull’s nightmare landscape and his hand missing Bucky’s again and again, watching the plane explode and then the water, and the cold. He woke up with a swooping sense of vertigo, like he was falling. He hadn’t relived that, he told himself. He hadn’t, he’d escaped that, at least—

 

But it didn’t matter, not really. He still remembered it, clear as if it had happened yesterday, and his little jaunt through his own memories had brought it back clearer than ever.

 

He gasped wretchedly for air and couldn’t get a good breath, even though he knew that was stupid, his lungs weren’t catching on ice-cold wind, weren’t filling up with water, he could breathe—

 

Tony’s arm squeezed him closer, and then he was shifting, nudging Steve gently to sit up so that he could lie back, then tug him back down on top of him. Steve went willingly, gasping into Tony’s chest, just under the RT, and Tony just stroked his hand over his shoulders, down over his back, even as Steve’s arms went around him and clutched him close, probably too close. He just lay there for a moment, trying to get his breath, and Tony held him. “I’ve got you, Steve,” he murmured at one point, letting his hand stroke through Steve’s hair, but that was all he said.

 

That was all right. It was enough. Steve was glad he didn’t have to talk about it, he didn’t want to—he wanted these nightmares to be gone, over and done with, and he was still sleepy, muzzy and dazed. He knew he’d get back to sleep soon, if Tony kept doing that, stroking his hair just like that. Just having him here was soothing, and he was grateful for it. How little Tony made it into anything. Sometimes he wanted to talk, for sure, but there were times when he just wanted to lie here and let the dream fade, will it away.

 

They lay there for a while, in silence, Steve trying to regulate his breathing, and then Tony slid back down, pulled Steve’s head into his shoulder, held him a little more tightly, even, and somehow that had been just . . . just what he needed. Steve felt himself start to relax, and closed his eyes, let himself sink into that hold with a sigh.

 

He didn’t even notice himself falling back asleep, but he woke up, quick and easy, out of the soundest sleep he could remember in a while, in the same position, Tony’s arms still loosely around him, even though Tony had ended up more sprawled out over the bed. Steve smiled as he sat up, kissing Tony’s shoulder in the process, and rolled out of bed, covering Tony with the blankets as he went.

 

\-----

 

Tony liked his showers hot, most of the time, and by the time he stepped out of it and toweled off, wrapping the towel around his waist so he could step into the bathroom and finish shaving and the rest of his routine, he was warm enough to feel a slight sense of vertigo. He knew the cooler air would chase that away before too long, so he wasn’t concerned—the RT ran his circulatory system better than anything but Extremis had before, but even it couldn’t compensate for everything. He was putting the products he’d used away and running water in the sink to wash away the results of shaving when Steve came into the bathroom, and he smiled at him, finishing washing his hands and shutting the water off before he turned to him.

 

“Have a good shower?” Steve asked. He skimmed his hand along the line of Tony’s shoulders, down along his back, before he leaned and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, smiling at the slight shudder that went through Tony’s body at the touch. He brought his hands around Tony’s sides and laid them flat on his belly, stroking gently, and Tony felt even more heat, of a different sort this time, wash through him, under his skin, at that implicit promise.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “You bet. I’m all clean now.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Steve said, laying soft kisses down over the nape of his neck, down along his spine. Tony sighed, let his head fall back after Steve’s lips moved down between his shoulder blades, then turned it, smiling back at him.

 

“Clean enough for you to mess me up again,” he suggested, letting heat creep into his tone. They hadn’t had sex for a few days, actually, almost a week—he’d been too tired the night before, and before that, it had been Steve, frustrated and tired and achy, and, Tony had thought, wanting more to be held than anything, though he hadn’t said as much, so that was what he’d done. And before that had been missions and work, for both of them. Tonight had been fun, though, Steve had taken him out to a little pizza place in the city he knew, nothing fancy, just . . . fun. A real date. Tony had been a little nervous at first, but then it hadn’t been anything that felt too weird, or different. It had been romantic, yeah, but . . . Steve was still Steve. It had been nice.

 

He was definitely in the mood for a little of this sort of thing, though, if Steve was willing. He hadn’t been thinking it, but now that he was . . . .

 

“Would you like that?” Steve asked, his voice soft as it feathered over Tony’s warm, clean skin in the middle of his back. He moved his hands back around to press his thumbs in against the base of Tony’s spine, the dips just above his hips, and made him shiver.

 

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed out, hot and fervent.

 

“Mmm, I was hoping you might feel that way,” Steve said. He turned Tony around in his arms, kissed him lightly, but before he could do more than start to kiss back, Steve pressed a kiss to his shoulder again, his collarbone, and on down his chest, over the RT, which made Tony shiver despite, or maybe because of, the way Steve paid no special attention to it, just placing the next kiss on the bottom of it, the next just over his navel. He brought his hands around, smoothing them over Tony’s stomach again, then his thumbs ducked down, rubbed into the hollows of Tony’s hips, and he shivered. He was putting on some more muscle and weight again, finally, and it wasn’t quite as embarrassing to have Steve’s hands and mouth there as it had been.

 

“What brought this on?” Tony asked, his voice going breathy as Steve pulled his towel loose and let it drop to the floor, easily going to his knees on top of it as he bit lightly at the curve of Tony’s hip.

 

Steve grinned up at him. “You’re my gorgeous guy,” he said, pressing another kiss to Tony’s stomach, “that’s not reason enough?”

 

Tony smiled down at him and put both hands on his head, curling his fingers through his hair. “And?” he said. “I want to know what provoked this, mmm,” Steve was trailing his hands down over Tony’s thighs, “attention, so I can do it as much as possible.”

 

Steve laughed a little and pressed a kiss to his other hip. “Nothin’ special,” he said. “You just look good, so I thought I’d come over, say hi.” He squeezed the backs of Tony's thighs and moved his mouth down to press more kisses over the top of one.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said again, letting his legs fall a little wider apart. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Steve said, grinning up at him again, a little cheekily, as he leaned in and nuzzled Tony’s cock, pressing a kiss to the base of it and making him groan, loudly.

 

“Oh, God,” Tony said. Steve just smiled a little more and mouthed teasingly at the end of Tony’s cock, flicking his tongue over the end. Tony’s head swam with the speed and heat of the blood rushing there, the way desire seemed to slam through him like a repulsor blast, centered on his cock.

 

“Your last chance to back out,” Steve said, with teasing cheerfulness, grinning up at him.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Tony breathed. “You’re not stopping there, right?”

 

“Just making sure I’m wanted around here,” Steve said, still stroking the backs of his thighs and grinning up at him.

 

“Very wanted,” Tony assured him. “Damn, Steve.” His breath was still coming quick and hot from that touch of Steve’s mouth to his cock. “You tease.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Steve said. “I can’t help it.” He blushed a little, and his eyes darkened with heat. “At least, the way your eyes get dark and you start looking at me like you’re going to take me apart whenever you get into it . . . it makes me want to string you along just a little sometimes.” He bit his lip and looked down, as if he thought that had been a little much.

 

“You say things like that and then you turn bright pink,” Tony noted, still a little breathless. “It’s adorable, you know that?”

 

“Aww, shut up,” Steve said, laughing. “You’re never going to let the blushing go, are you?”

 

“Do you blush like this with everyone?” Tony asked, still stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair.

 

“Pretty much,” Steve said. “Bernie used to rib me about it, too.” He squeezed Tony’s thigh gently. “But you’re the worst for it. Always making me blush.”

 

“It’s a talent,” Tony told him.

 

“Obviously,” Steve laughed.

 

“And it’s adorable,” Tony said, feeling as if he needed to reiterate that. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Steve just shook his head at him, then leaned in and pressed his mouth to the base of Tony’s cock again in what ended up a surprisingly sweet kiss. Heat still surged through Tony all over again, though, and he gasped desperately, tilting his head back against the wall.

 

That was one of the best things about Steve. He was easygoing and good-natured about most teasing; he never held things against Tony or made him work for it in bed. Now that Tony wasn’t thinking he’d give the game away by being affectionate, sex with Steve had become some of the most fun in bed he’d ever had, along with Rumiko, who still hurt to think about. But the tight knot of grief was easing some, and it was easier to bear for not being alone.

 

It made him feel like maybe he didn’t destroy everything he touched.

 

Steve was still teasing his cock, now licking and sucking at his balls, holding his cock with one hand, and Tony moaned as Steve trailed his tongue over them, rubbing and licking. Tony moaned, arched his back helplessly against the wall, even as Steve laved his tongue down the side of Tony’s cock, still holding it in his big warm hand, and thumbing softly at the head at the same time.

 

“If we’re talking adorable,” Steve said, lips moving soft against his cock and making Tony shudder, “the noises you make, I think they’re pretty sweet.”

 

“Not sexy?” Tony groaned helplessly as Steve licked at him again, his hands falling to Steve’s shoulders to try to help brace himself. He couldn’t do much to stop them, he was afraid—he’d never been loud in bed, really, but the noises were something he couldn’t seem to help; they even spilled out of him, unbidden, when he was giving head.

 

“It has to be one or the other?” Steve asked.

 

“Oh, well, I guess not,” Tony managed. “As long as you think they’re sexy, I’m. Mmm. Okay.”

 

Steve grinned. “Good,” he said. “They are. So sexy, Tony.” He laid a little kiss against the base of his cock, followed it with another, then another, all the way down to the tip, then took the head into his mouth and sucked. He swirled his tongue around, then pulled off, apparently headless of how wet and messy it left his mouth, the droplets of saliva and precome painting his lips. “You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on Tony’s face, then he took his cock into his mouth again, already wet and puffy pink lips closing around the length of it and—and—God. Tony’s thoughts stuttered to a stop for a long moment at the sight of that. Who was sexy again? Jesus.

 

Tony hadn’t felt particularly sexy at all since he’d come back; he’d mostly felt run-down and two steps behind and exhausted and still a little sore, but when Steve looked at him like that, he felt sexy as hell. He gasped a little despite himself, felt the noises Steve had been talking about escaping his lips in gasps and moans as Steve began to move back and forth on his cock, his hands coming up to grip and knead at Tony’s ass, which just wasn’t fair, because it felt so good, and so warm, and his hands were so big and square and strong, and his mouth was so warm, too, and . . . .

 

Tony loved giving head, he did, either the weight and heat of a man’s (Steve’s) cock in his mouth, or the slick wet flutters of a woman’s sex under his lips and tongue, but it went both ways, giving and receiving, there was the heat and the wet slick slide and the feeling of connection, of being intimately linked that way and he didn’t want to get too poetic or over the top or anything, but the way Steve was holding him, his forearms braced behind his thighs, the way his mouth felt on his cock, he felt like he was held steady, cradled close, the pleasure washing over him in slow, easy waves. Steve’s mouth was so, so hot and velvety and perfect and wet, and he wasn’t taking him too deep, but Tony didn’t care, it didn’t matter when it felt so good already, and Steve’s hands were warm on his ass, holding him up a little, and he knew that if his legs gave out right now Steve would hold him up without even a wobble. Steve tasted so good when Tony had his mouth on his cock, and he wondered what he tasted like to Steve, he knew he didn’t have the greatest diet for this kind of thing but he hoped it wasn’t too bitter or acrid or unpleasant, he tried to keep himself clean and he’d just washed off, but there wasn’t much he could do about the taste and—

 

“Mmmm,” Steve said, and squeezed the back of his leg a little, just under the curve of his ass. He pulled back, took a breath, and then said, his lips still wet and swollen, “You’re thinking too much, Tony, turn it off.”

 

“Sorry,” Tony said, and Steve made a face at him.

 

“No need to be sorry, God,” he said, and then, a little more anxiously, “Am I doing okay, or . . . .”

 

“Are you kidding?” Tony said, a little strangled. “You’re doing amazing, honey. Just . . .” he panted for breath, but couldn’t come up with another fitting adjective with so little blood in his brain, “just amazing.”

 

Steve grinned. “Okay,” he said, and settled his mouth down over him again, rubbing at bit at the shaft with his hand before moving that hand to roll his balls, soft and slow while he licked and sucked at his cock, then back up to his ass, pulling Tony in closer. After a while, Tony lost track of what he was even saying, babbling helpless praise that he was afraid was effusive and embarrassingly affectionate, and long moans and soft gasps falling from his lips despite himself. It had been a . . . a long time since someone had done this for him; his body remembered how long even if his mind didn’t, and it wasn’t long at all before he was teetering on the edge. The pleasure was everything, everywhere in him, that and the warmth of Steve’s presence, the fact that it was him, the way he touched Tony, even his ass, like he was gorgeous and beautiful and treasured somehow, which honestly was kind of a new one for him.

 

“I—I’m going to,” he finally managed, still petting at, stroking Steve’s hair with the hand not clutching his shoulder desperately for support, “I’m close.”

 

“Mmm,” Steve said, and licked at the tip of his cock, his tongue playing with the slit, swirling around the head, before he took Tony in deeply, more deeply than he had before, and sucked hard, and that was it, Tony gasped, sucked in his breath, and then he was coming, and coming, riding a shuddering breathless overwhelmed wave of pleasure, he knew he’d made some sort of breathless moaning noise, breathy and embarrassing, but he couldn’t manage to care at all, and Steve swallowed easily, still sucking at him gently, though Tony was barely aware of it until the bright ecstasy of his orgasm faded a little. Steve started licking him clean after the tremors from his climax were almost past, and Tony twitched and shivered, the gentle licks and laps at his sensitive flesh almost, but not quite, too much, groaning again, little broken gasps he couldn’t stop, with each one. When he was done, Steve slid his arms up around Tony’s waist and tugged him down, and he went willingly, letting himself sink down over Steve’s thighs as Steve rocked back and stretched out his legs, so that Tony ended up straddling him, almost in his lap, still breathless and dazed from pleasure, and grateful for that, because he felt boneless, his knees weak and wavering. Steve stroked his back, and Tony curled his arms around Steve’s shoulders and panted for breath and felt immeasurably lucky as Steve stroked the dip of his spine, rubbed at the curve of his ass, then up over his back to his shoulders, his blue eyes bright and full of feeling. Tony leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s in a slow, searching kiss, and Steve kissed back eagerly, as if that was just what he’d been waiting for, sweet and ardent.

 

Tony’s mind was still jumbled and glowing from the orgasm, so he wasn’t sure how long they spent kissing, but it felt like a while. Steve’s mouth tasted of Tony’s own come, his lips a little swollen with use, and wet, and Tony found himself rubbing the back of Steve’s neck even as they traded deep, searching kisses back and forth. Finally, Tony had to pull away just to breathe, and Steve made a little noise of loss that had Tony stroking his shoulders and nuzzling breathless kisses along his jaw.

 

“Was that okay?” Steve gasped out after a second, his hands still traveling softly up and down over Tony’s back. “I’d never really, uh, done that before, so I was wondering.”

 

Tony blinked, raised his head a little to look at him, bringing up one hand to cup his face and stroke his jaw. “Never?” he said.

 

“Well, plenty of times with ladies,” Steve said, blushing again, “I always really liked doing that. But for a fella? Yeah, that was my first try.”

 

“I had no idea,” Tony told him, “which tells you something, sunshine.” Steve smiled, blushed a little more, looking down, and Tony kissed his cheek. “You were amazing,” he said. “It felt incredible. I think my legs are still shaking a little.”

 

“Well, good,” Steve said, and grinned. “If you want to do something nice for your sweetheart and it doesn’t go great, doesn’t really work so well, after all.”

 

Tony swallowed. “Honey, you could look at me and smile and it’s something nice,” he said, a little roughly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

 

“And what if I want to?” Steve asked, nudging him a little. “Because I do. So you’d better get used to it, mister.”

 

“You wanting to blow me or do nice things for me?” Tony asked, teasing him now.

 

Steve blushed, but his eyes danced. “Does it have to be one or the other?” he said again, and leaned in, kissed the tip of Tony’s nose.

 

Tony laughed. God, this man really was a national treasure, he thought fondly, in so many more ways than most people realized, and brushed a kiss against his chin. “No,” he said, “I guess not.” He pressed another kiss into the curve of his neck and reached down for Steve’s hard, full cock, straining against the front of his exercise pants. “So,” he said. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

 

Steve flushed even harder and looked like he was about to say something, probably that there was no rush, knowing Steve, when Tony’s hand closed around his cock and instead he gasped, his shoulders tightening up as his back arched. Tony moved in closer, skimming his hand down over Steve’s shoulders, his back, even as he pressed kisses along his neck and squeezed the cock in his hand gently, then moved to tug Steve’s pants down around his thighs, along with his shorts, freeing his cock to bob against his stomach. Steve gasped and twitched his hips slightly, even as Tony pulled his pants down and off and brought his hand back to curve it against Steve’s balls, rolling them in his hand before curling his palm and fingers back around his cock. Steve was hot and heavy against his hand, already slick and wet with precome all smeared around the head, and Tony swallowed as he rubbed his thumb against it and Steve gasped again. “Were you hard while you were sucking me?” Tony asked, grazing his teeth lightly against Steve’s ear. “I can just see you, trying not to rub yourself against the front of your pants and almost succeeding, but you can’t quite help it, and the hotter you get the more you circle your hips, try to get friction, and spread your slick all over yourself—you’re so wet and messy already, honey, God.” Steve shuddered, moaned, pressing his forehead forward against Tony’s shoulder and panting for breath. His hands came up and fumbled at Tony’s sides and then dug in, clutching him close. Tony smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I know how you feel,” he said, hot against his ear, stroking him more firmly now, not just teasing at the head but giving him good long strokes of his hand. “You know it always gets me hot, too.”

 

Steve gave a desperate little gasping noise and pushed his hips up into Tony’s hand, still clutching him tightly. Tony curled his arm more firmly around his shoulders and nuzzled into his hair, falling into a rhythm, just slow enough to keep Steve on that edge, rolling his hips and panting.

 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispered, and tilted his head so he could watch Steve blush, all the way down his neck into his chest. Tony smiled and slowed his hand just a little bit more so he could put a little extra teasing twist into it, a slide of his thumb over the head with each stroke. “C’mon, sweetie, give me a kiss,” he prompted, teasing Steve further even as he squeezed at the root of him, and Steve tilted his head up, leaned in, panting and breathless, his eyes half closed. Tony set his hand at the back of Steve’s neck, steadying him and drawing him in at the same time, and kissed him, sweet and solid, hot and slow, tongue twisting wet against his, to make up for the way he was drawing this out. He knew Steve liked it like this, slow and feeling; he could get into it rough and fast, but usually only if his adrenaline was already up. It was a good thing that Tony liked it like this, slow, lingering, and thinking loving made his own cheeks feel hot—but that, too.

 

And he did love Steve. They’d established that. He kissed him a little more firmly, and Steve moaned, leaned into him, opened his mouth, giving and eager, his hands sliding down to Tony’s hips. Tony kissed him a while longer, sweet and slow, and Steve just leaned into him, like he was settling into the kiss, the slow pace, relaxing against Tony, pliant under his hands and tongue. Tony rubbed the back of his neck, opened his eyes to see that Steve’s were almost closed and pleasure-glassy where he could see them, lashes thick against his cheeks. The sight of it made sudden affection knot up in Tony’s chest, and he let himself indulge it this time, closing his eyes and letting the kiss turn even slower and sweeter, slow soft passes of their lips, because he could, because this was for real, because Steve wouldn’t mind, and the reason he was so sweet and relaxed in Tony’s hands was because he loved him back. It was still so hard to believe, seemed heady, impossible, the thought of it dizzying, but Tony let himself revel in it anyway, before he started moving his hand a little faster. When he pulled away from the kiss Steve moaned and moved in again, lips seeking his, so Tony took a breath and then kissed him back, keeping it just as slow even as he sped up the strokes of his hand. His hand was really wet now, slickly damp from all of Steve’s precome, and it made the slide easy. Steve clutched at his back and gasped into his mouth, rising into his hand a little bit more, off the floor, and Tony knew that meant he was getting close. He pulled Steve a little bit closer by his neck and tightened up his hand, and Steve gave a low choked noise and came, arching up at the same time. Tony slowed his strokes instantly, coaxing him through it as Steve sighed and shook against him. Eventually, finally, Steve slumped forward against him, gasping for breath, and Tony pulled away from his mouth, kissed his forehead, firmly, even as Steve grinned at him, with that flushed, eager glow he got after he came.

 

“Good?” Tony asked, reaching behind him for the towel so he could use it to clean both of them up.

 

“D’you have to ask?” Steve asked, still with that glowing smile.

 

“Maybe I like to hear you say it,” Tony said, teasingly. “It flatters my pride.”

 

“Mmm,” Steve said, still smiling at him, “then yes. So good, Tony, always.”

 

“Not always, probably,” Tony laughed, “but I try.”

 

“Good enough for me,” Steve said, and kissed him lightly again.

 

“Really?” Tony asked, trying not to let it turn more serious, but he couldn’t entirely help it. It wasn’t too effusive, too much to ask for, he thought. Good enough—he could be good enough, right? Maybe?

 

“You bet,” Steve said, pulling him a little tighter. Tony almost wanted to argue, but he let it go, letting himself be tugged forward and shifting until he was comfortable on Steve’s lap without the position getting too sexual.

 

“I try,” he said, again, and Steve smiled and squeezed him a little around the waist.

 

“Don't try too hard,” he said, smiling at him, fond and warm, “you’re supposed to be having fun with this, too.”

 

Tony couldn’t help laughing at that. “I’m sitting naked on the floor of my bathroom with the most gorgeous guy I know,” he said. “What part of that doesn’t seem like fun to you?”

 

“Hmm,” Steve said, blushing on top of the flush of orgasm that was still turning him pink, on cue. “I know I’m having fun.”

 

“Well, so am I,” Tony told him, and Steve smiled, that brilliant smile that could light up a room.

 

“I’m glad,” he said simply. He reached up, curled his hand into Tony’s hair, and Tony let him pull his head down onto his shoulder, stroke his fingers through it. It felt good, easy and relaxed, and he rubbed his hand over Steve’s shoulders at the same time. They sat like that for a while, easy and quiet, and then Steve leaned in, his breath warm on Tony’s ear, and murmured, “I love you, you know that?”

 

Tony gasped a little, he couldn’t help it, every time Steve said anything at all like that, he still felt dizzy, and hot, and a little like he was about to forget how to breathe. He pressed closer to Steve, trying to get past how flustered that left him, vividly aware of his pulse pounding in his ears. Steve’s hands moved soothingly down over his back, along his spine, soft and easy, steadying him in long, slow strokes.

 

“I, well, you know I love you,” Tony said, feeling awkward and like his voice had come off overly light. He squirmed a little, uncomfortable in his skin as he pulled back. “I mean, it’s obvious, right?”

 

“A little,” Steve said, smiling. “It’s pretty hard to miss it these days, even for me.”

 

Tony scowled at him. “Thanks a lot,” he said.

 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Steve said softly. “I love you, too, remember?”

 

Tony felt his face heating up. “Well,” he said. “I guess.”

 

“You guess,” Steve said, his lips twitching. “Really, Tony?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Tony said. He hesitated. “I wasn’t that obvious, was I?”

 

Steve smiled, still rather fond. “Yeah, you kind of were,” he said.

 

Tony glared at him. “I was trying not to be obvious,” he pointed out.

 

Steve grinned. “Well, I guess you’re not as good as hiding it as you think,” he said. “You were sweet to me, Tony, it’s not a bad thing.” He smiled more softly, his eyes so sincere it made Tony’s stomach flip-flop. “You still are.”

 

“God,” Tony said, and shook his head. Steve laughed and kissed him, and after a moment, Tony gave into his own grin and hid it in kissing him back. “Sweet,” he said against Steve’s lips, “really, honey?”

 

“Honey, Tony,” Steve said, and laughed, curling his arms around his shoulders.

 

“Well,” Tony said, maybe a little defensively, “why not?”

 

“I like it,” Steve said.

 

“Mmm, we established that,” Tony said, smiling at him. Steve smiled back and Tony couldn’t help himself from reaching out, tracing the curve of that smile.

 

He got to touch, now. Steve smiled a little more and kissed the tip of his finger softly, and Tony smiled back at him, curved the back of his fingers against his cheek.

 

“I bet you’re hungry,” he said, and grinned as Steve visibly perked up at that.

 

“Mm, well,” he said. “I usually am,” he added with a laugh, a little sheepishly.

 

“I know,” Tony said. “Do you want to put some clothes on and grab a bite?”

 

“Only if you want to,” Steve said, and it was so incredibly, foolishly noble sounding, over something so small, that Tony just had to grin.

 

“I do,” he said, and grabbed at Steve’s hands. “Come on, let’s go, Winghead. Up and at ‘em.”

 

Steve laughed and followed him, taking his hands willingly and letting Tony pull him to his feet.

 

\-----

 

“I just don’t know about this,” Tony said dubiously. “I’m not a great cook. I’m not good at following directions. So don’t blame me if you get sick. I warned you.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “This disclaimer absolves me of any liability for trauma that might ensue.”

 

Steve shook his head at him, smiling a little. “Don’t give me that,” he said. “Are you really saying there’s something the genius Tony Stark isn’t good at?”

 

“Yes,” Tony said. “Plenty of things. Actually kind of a lot of things.”

 

Steve shook his head again. “I’m going to eat this pasta and it’s going to be great,” he said.

 

“I warned you,” Tony muttered.

 

They were sitting together in the Tower’s kitchen, which, for once, was absent of any of the others—Jarvis had cleared them out, after Steve had told them that Tony and he wanted the area to themselves for a night or so. The living room was deserted, too. They were sharing the pasta Tony had made and a glass of sparkling cider, and there was panna cotta for dessert in the fridge—which Jarvis had been responsible for, since Tony had refused to even attempt a dessert. He was willing to try to make dinner for Steve, to give him a real date, now that he knew that they were supposed to be dating—he was willing to do just about anything to make up for how he’d screwed up, how badly he’d misunderstood, but Steve had said a dinner at home would about cover it, so Tony had done his best.

 

Steve took a bit, chewed, and then swallowed. “See?” he said. “It’s good.”

 

“You’re just saying that,” Tony informed him. He took a bite of his own, and actually it . . . wasn’t bad. “Huh,” he said.

 

Steve was grinning, the jerk. “What did I tell you?” he asked.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Tony told him.

 

Steve just raised his eyebrows at him, still grinning, and took a swallow of his cider. “I promise I won’t make you cook for us every night,” he said.

 

“You sure as hell won’t,” Tony said. “I am not your fifties housewife, Rogers.”

 

Steve laughed. “Yeah,” he said drily, “the facial hair kind of gave that one away.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes at him. “I’m an engineer,” he said, “not a chemist. It’s bound to go horribly wrong sooner or later. Don’t push your luck.”

 

“All right, all right,” Steve said. “I won’t expect any more meals from you.” His eyes softened. “Thank you, though,” he said, more quietly. “For doing this. Something special. It’s . . . nice. All the more so because you don’t usually do this.”

 

Tony made a face, looked down, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You said you wanted something, so . . . this is the least I can do. I mean, I have a lot of lost time to make up for, and . . . .”

 

“Hey,” Steve said. “None of that.”

 

Tony frowned and him, and Steve stared evenly back.

 

“Quit it, Tony,” he said. “I told you. That’s nothing for you to worry yourself over. I had fun, I’m still having fun. It’s fine.”

 

Tony shrugged again, and took a swallow of his own cider. “If you say so,” he murmured.

 

“I do,” Steve said firmly.

 

“All right,” Tony said, and took another bite of his pasta. It really wasn’t that bad, not that he was planning to open up a second business or anything. They just talked for a while, about nothing in particular, and he felt himself relax. The food wasn’t too terrible, it was good to have a night in with Steve, and with the candles on the table and it being just the two of them, he felt like he hadn’t screwed anything up too badly in terms of making it romantic. Pretty good, all in all.

 

And of course, spending time with Steve, that was always good. Or almost always, anyway.

 

After a while, Steve put his fork down and smiled at him. “You know,” he said, looking down, “I never thought I’d get to have this.”

 

“Hmm?” Tony said. “What, pasta?”

 

Steve shook his head at him, grinning. “No,” he said. “Don’t be like that. I just mean . . . this. With you. I used to think that a guy like you would never go for someone as plain and boring as me. I didn’t even know if you liked guys rather than ladies. I guess that’s why I never tried to start anything with you, you know . . . before.” He smiled a little, looked down. “I guess that was pretty stupid.”

 

Tony swallowed. “We were pretty stupid, I guess,” he said. “To be wanting each other all that time, and never saying anything. And then . . . everything that happened. We really screwed it up, didn’t we?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding seriously. “ We did. But the only thing we can do is make sure we do better from here on out. And that’s what I’m planning on doing. We know now. We have this chance with each other. And I’m not going to waste it. I’m going to make it count.”

 

“Right,” Tony said. He smiled a little, at that thought. “A second chance.” He liked that idea.


End file.
